Dust to Dust
by See That Guy
Summary: "Life is already so very strange. Death is even more so." A re-telling of Skyrim with a twist. Partially inspired by lioness84's fic.
1. On A Pale Horse

_**For Bob and Gloria.**_

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 **ACT I**

 **Chapter 1**

 **On a Pale Horse**

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 **"Insanity runs in my family. It practically gallops."**

 **-Cary Grant**

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From the start, we are judged.

It has been said that one Spartan is as good as seven regular men. Our defeat at the siege of Thermopylae is a good example. Our 300 Spartans (and a few hundred other Greek soldiers, and the idiot Phocians, whom I refuse to consider part of our home in any way) were about 1,200 strong. Xerxes' army was 2.5 million strong.

Yes, I say defeat. We fell on the third day, and the Persians made it through the pass, though our men made sure it was a pyrrhic victory.

Even with this defeat, my home's reputation surpassed it.

From the start, we are judged. Only if we are deemed fit to live do we survive our births. I was judged fit.

Had I been deemed unfit, I would have been left in the wild to die. Such is life in Sparta.

When we reach our seventh year, so begins the agoge.

From the start, we are judged.

The lessons? Brutal. The instructors? Unforgiving. There is only one way to prove yourself as a Spartan: Fight. We must first learn to do so.

One of the things I remember about the agoge is the scarcity of food. I do not mean it was only me that was malnourished. Do not interpret it as such. No trainee is well fed. We accustom ourselves to pain in this way, and also learn one other important survival skill: Thievery.

It was not uncommon for a trainee to sneak out and steal more food, and if we were caught, we were punished.

We were punished not for the theft, but for being caught, as previously mentioned.

I lived for seven years among my Spartan brethren, and was trained as such.

I feel it is extremely disrespectful, however, to go too far into the training I received every day, as in depth discussion of our training to outsiders is frowned upon. That being said, this is not the story of the agoge.

This story begins at the end, with yours truly dying in the sun. I'd been bitten by a wolf several weeks prior, while attempting to steal a meal for myself.

The technique I'd developed in order to get myself food was simple, and it worked on trial and error. I made sure to keep my feet low when I stepped, and move lightly. I would travel with all the speed of a snail at times, and I would keep myself small.

Do not think for a minute that I was very good at stealing. I'd been caught my fair share of times and received the punishment as befitting one that offended so.

The night I'd encountered the wolf, I was very hungry, though not careless. I remained paranoid throughout most of my trips, but it was always even worse if my belly growled. I felt as though the entirety of Greece could hear it. My fears were always misplaced, of course. Most Spartans I feared being caught by were older than I was, and as consequence, the elasticity of youth had left them. Specifically, their eyes and ears.

This does not mean they were all blind and deaf. I mean they were old. Don't tell them I said that.

However, fear of being caught when sneaking around always makes one feel as though the world is privy to all their movements. It's worse when you're barely eight years old. Having said that, I felt justified in sneaking to the trees, where I'd long since found cherry trees and apples growing. It was safer since I wasn't stealing from anybody in particular. Just the entirety of Greece.

I say again, I was eight.

As I was picking at the berries and eating them in a nearby bush, I became aware of footsteps in the nearby grass. Before I could even think of what the source might be, there was a low growl. The steps advanced on my hidden form.

The beast was frail, as if it were close to death. At the time, I thought it was simply starving. I'd seen wolves before, but they almost always stayed far away from us. They never ventured into town unless they were sick or starving. I did not know it was mad.

For a brief moment we locked eyes. Mine betrayed evaporating fear, as part of my mind worried this beast was an instructor. The wolf's eyes held nothing. No anger, no happiness, no fear, no sadness- they were devoid of all emotion. This wolf didn't look like it had any sense of self.

I slid back away from the creature as I began to think of what I could do for myself. The wolf advanced menacingly.

Running was out of the question. First of all, the wolf would catch me- I'd been recovering from an ankle injury I sustained while training. Second of all, I would be caught by my people and punished. Third, even if I got away from the wolf, if I told someone that there was a wolf in the vicinity, I would be questioned as to how I knew that. If I withheld the information, I might be found out later, and that would be a far worse punishment.

I knew that, though at the time I was unremarkable at weapon play, I excelled at the use of one tool in our arsenal: Pankration.

Pankration is a combination of boxing and wrestling. It's used as a sport and a defensive measure where I am from. We Spartans are so good at it that we're banned from competing in out of city-state competitions.

As I was only eight years old, it was not reasonable to think that I could beat a healthy wolf in a fight. This creature, however, looked to be quite near death. I wondered just how brittle its bones were.

When it lunged at me, it knocked me onto my back and tried to tear into my throat. I punched it in the neck, but it didn't seem to react other than being jarred. The attack it launched on me did not meet my throat. Instead, my punch caused it to rip a chunk out of my breast. It was not a life threatening would, however. I could bandage it later, and pass off the bandaged wound as due to training.

When it pulled back to try to tear my throat out again, I managed to catch it. I held firm its maw with my right hand and put my left on the back of its head, and I jerked it to the side until it fell lifeless upon me.

It took little effort to push the wolf off of me so I could return to my bed, but first I had a wound to tend to.

I could not go to the others with the wound. It would raise questions I would not want raised unless I fixed it by my own hand. Once I escaped, I hunted down a few herbs that would help prevent illness. For some reason, however, they did not work.

My first symptoms took several weeks to show. First, there was fever. Then, I wasn't stealing food so much anymore. I had no appetite. It was not so long after that before I had the frailty of the beast that wounded me so long ago.

By the time I'd become skin and bone, however, I was not myself. I have brief recollections of a great fear of water. I was never afraid of it before, but now? Any hint of the stuff caused great fear to blossom within me, which often led to more punishments due to my acting out.

I also recall having tantrums over the most mundane things. Normally I would not bother, for fear of my punishment.

As for my demise, the events as I recall them are here:

What I do understand is what my mentor helped me to understand: I'd been in a fight with a fellow student, for we were training with weapon play through use of wooden swords. My blows had landed with such ferocity that I could very well have beaten the boy to death if the instructors did not intervene. One pulled me aside and demanded my weapon.

By that time, everybody had known of my irrational fear of water. Nobody ever pressed it, however, because it wasn't getting me punished. It was my acting out that did.

When I refused to relinquish my weapon, the instructor held forth a bladder full of water. I recall screaming myself hoarse, and slowly backing away from him. The sword in my grip was held so firm, my knuckles were white.

I screamed and screamed until I couldn't anymore, and he tried to pour the liquid onto my head as some sort of joke.

Let's just say I took it the wrong way. The wooden sword smacked hard into his knee, and I struck upwards at him. However this man was much larger than me. He raised his palm to me and grabbed the sword, yanking it from my grip. The force of the pull sent me forward into his waist, where he grabbed the scruff of my shirt with his free hand.

I pulled free a short blade from a sheath on his leg and buried it in his gut, or so I thought at first. I quickly became aware that I completely missed him and instead hit the bladder of water.

Raising a hand against an instructor was not such a horrible offense. Every Spartan wants to do that, and so if I'd only tried to hit him with my fist, I probably would have gotten a light punishment.

Attempting to murder a superior, though? That warrants death. I still had grip on his short blade and lunged it at him in madness. He dodged away with ease and took up a shield and spear to better defend himself. I knew better than to try and seperate him from the shield. Spartans either come back with their shields or on them.

"Are you sure you want this, Mia Tuk?"

By then, I could bear to say no rational word in any tongue that I know. Saliva had built up in my mouth and I struggled to continue spitting the foam like substance free. The short blade clattered uselessly against his shield.

It was my fatal error.

It was quick. He shoved his shield into my torso with great force, and swiftly pulled it up into my neck. The attack sent my head up to stare at the clouds long enough for him to draw his spear across my throat.

It didn't hurt very much. I pulled my head back down to leer at him, prepared to continue my attack, but my neck felt wet, and my breath hitched. I tried and tried but failed. I could not catch my breath.

I weakly fell to my knees, my hand investigating the wound on my throat. I coughed, blood spilling from it as well as my lips.

The instructor eyed me with no pity or hatred. He simply watched. I fell backwards, coughed again, and all was dark.

End of Chapter

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 **1,867 words. So it begins.**

 **This is going to be a very long story. Having said that, I will be taking brief recesses in certain areas. I will be separating parts of the story into an act structure for this reason. These recesses will not be more than a week or two, though the next update may take longer, depending on the chapter length.**

 **Let me know what you guys think as this story unfolds. I always love hearing what you have to say!**

 **Next chapter covers our late Spartan friend observing his own body, with a special guest. Please help me welcome Kevin Spacey. *claps***

 **...So, yeah, next chapter won't be too long. Can't really talk much about it without risking spoilers.**


	2. A Cure For Most of What Ails You

**Chapter 2**

 **A Cure For Most of What Ails You**

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 **"It's stopped."**

 **-Joseph Henry Green's last words, upon taking his own pulse.**

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Spartans get used to the idea of dying. It's an occupational hazard. However, there is no training for the moment after you die, if you're to awaken to a paradise or what I awoke to instead, which was myself. Or rather, my still body.

Life is already so very strange. Death is even more so.

There really wasn't too much blood. Not as much as I'd have expected from the event, anyway. This was good for my instructors. Less to clean up means they can resume training quicker.

I was unable to move at first. From my feet to my head I was paralyzed. All I could look at was my still form, and the scene that played below me.

The trainer that took my life shooed all of the other students away from my body.

"Return to your barracks at once, or face punishment," he shouted in a commanding tone. "Sparring will resume after the body is disposed of and the blood is cleared from the ring."

Nobody moved. He took a step forward. "Go, now, or face half rations for a week."

With the possibility of losing rations now hanging dangerously above their heads, the students dispersed as was commanded of them. Two slaves were summoned to dispose of my still form and clean the blood. My instructor drank from the bladder of water.

He pulled aside another instructor. "Have you informed the parents?"

There was a nod.

"They say his brother will be ready for the agoge in another two months."

"Very good. How about a break while we wait to have our ring back?"

The other instructor nodded. "A fine idea. I found a collection of apple trees and cherry bushes not far from here."

The two began to disperse, leaving me watching the slaves as they worked. It was at that point that I began to become aware of the presence just beside me.

Suddenly I could move again, but only to face the disturbance. I turned, and all feeling returned to me.

Beside me was a massive reptilian beast. It must have been the size of twenty men, at least. Most of its scales were white, but I spied some red to its form, suggesting its presence in combat some time ago. However, it did not appear to be wounded.

And it would not be by me, for I was but a spirit, a babe, and quite unarmed. I wouldn't stand a chance against it. I'm hesitant to say whether my brethren would fair any better, for there are no dragons where I am from. They are pillagers, conquerers, and beasts only of legend. Yet, here one stood.

I found my senses again and stepped back, before turning such that only one side faced it.

There was something unusual, though. It didn't advance as I retreated. It did not take up a combat stance as I did. Come to think of it, I saw no malevolence in its eyes.

And all rational thought was forced aside when it spoke to me. In no tongue I knew of, I might add. Still, I remember every word it said to me:

"Bo amativ, ahrk mindos fos koros folaas dahsul tol hi aal ni zuvir usnutiid, Dovahkiin."

These words awoke something within me, though I was not aware of it at the time. From the first, I was a sponge to this alien language. Every word I heard stayed with me, as if my mind were malleable clay.

Before I could even respond to the creature, I felt myself rising upwards. Higher, higher, higher I flew. Though I was flying into darkness, it only got brighter. The light became so brilliant that eventually, I was unable to sense any of it.

I felt what equates now to a boom within my chest, and I gasped my first.

End of Chapter

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 **665 words.**

 **The dragon he met was Akatosh. We'll be getting into the Skyrim part from herein.**


	3. Mia Tuk Switches to Geico

**Chapter 3**

 **Mia Tuk Switches to Geico**

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 **"A suicide note written by someone who isn't suicidal is an autobiography."**

 **-Dane Cook**

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I awoke to darkness which plagued my eyes, and feared blindness until I shot up in a start, surprised at the oddly alien beating within my chest.

The cloth fell to my lap with a "plop." I looked all around to gather my bearings. I was in a small cottage. Quite small. Cozy, even. The cottage was only one room. This was far from the barracks that I called my home. It did not smell of sweat, blood, and metal. Instead, I could smell freshly baked bread, cooked meats, and candles being burnt.

I felt a hand press on my back, and only grogginess prevented me from repeating my first conscious action.

Instead, I looked over my shoulder, and froze.

It was only then that I'd noticed the woman that sat beside me. Of course, at that point, I may not have been certain of the gender.

A lizard's tale rested over her legs.

"Easy there, little one. You'll fall off the bed."

She looked to be an adult, though not near her twilight years. Then again, what did I know at the time?

A look of amusement crossed her features.

"What's the matter? You act as if you've never seen an Argonian before."

I hadn't. To then, this humanoid lizard beast that wore the yellow dress and white apron had all the physical properties that reminded me of my strange companion earlier.

Alright, minus some aspects.

She removed her hand from my back and offerred me a glass of water. The site of it stirred an alien feeling within me. Not one of fear, but one of desire. I took the cup and drank of it until nothing remained. She took the empty cup from me and I eyed her again.

"There, that's good. I will get you more water in a bit."

She placed the cup on a nightstand near the bed.

"What is your name, little one?"

I was silent for a moment, as my mind was racing. Though it was for a moment, I seemed to have forgotten my own name.

The strange lizard lady was patient, though, and was kind when she asked me to repeat myself after I choked out unintelligible gibberish.

"Mia Tuk," I said. Though I'd just had water, my throat was raspy, not unlike hers.

She smiled at me, and I took note of the sharp teeth that filled her maw. She was a stranger. A beast and a person. I told myself to be prepared to fight if I must, and I cursed myself for drinking the water she offerred, for fear of poison.

"Mia Tuk? What a fine name. It fits you, child."

The strange woman got up with my cup, and filled it again with water out of a bucket. My suspicions faded when I saw her drink it and refill it, this time for me.

She took her place on the stool beside me again, and offerred me the cup once more.

"I am Tabrodite. I found you passed out behind my home, child. Do you know where you are?"

Having exhausted my speaking capability up to that point, I shook my head.

"You're on Baker Street. Do you remember where you last saw your Mommy and Daddy?"

Again I found my voice. "Sparta," I whispered.

The woman, Tabrodite, leaned a little closer, as if she didn't hear me. Then, to confirm:

"I'm sorry?"

"Sparta," I said louder. Tabrodite looked at me with a blank expression, so I clarified, albeit a bit aggressively. "Greece."

The cottage was silent for a moment, and she slowly stood up.

"I will be back in a moment, little one. Please relax."

Tabrodite walked on the creaky wooden floor towards a wooden chest. She kicked it open and pulled a piece of folded up parchment out of it. When she returned, she unfurled it before me, and I was greeted by a very old map. It didn't seem to have any words on it, though that wouldn't matter. I could not read or write, for I had not reached that part of my training yet. It seemed to be a known world map.

"Can you point to your home, dear?"

I nodded with a little force, and I looked intently at the map, hoping to find Greece so I could show this ignorant beast a place which all should know and fear.

Yet alarm quickly washed over me. I knew what Greece looked like well. I would never miss it. Meanwhile, a map this large should look familiar to me. I should have recognized these places, but the map was totally alien to me. My breathing sped up in fear. I grabbed the map from Tabrodite and scanned it repeatedly.

"Greece."

However, no matter what direction I turned the parchment, I saw no sign of my home.

"Greece," I said, as if trying to call for a friend in a large crowd. My breathing began to hitch, and in a last ditch attempt to find my home, I turned the parchment around and examined the back, in case it was hiding.

No such luck. The map slipped from my hands, and Tabrodite took it and folded it up. There must have been an odd look on my face, because she put a hand on my shoulder.

"Oh, no. There there, little one. Calm down, it's okay."

She moved to sit next to me on the bed. Ugh, but she reeked of low tide, as if she'd been swimming.

"Did none of those places look familiar to you?"

Crying was not considered a disgrace for babes, as it was instinctual and not known of by them. They were not beaten for it. Rather, they were conditioned to not cry.

As babies, we were left in the dark so as not to develop a fear of it. We were often left alone so we never felt dependent. We were always taught to shut up, give ourselves to our city state, and only if the men died fighting and the women died birthing would they receive a tombstone with their name upon it.

Any child crying was ignored, and the people tried to ensure that they had no reasons to cry.

No man cried, for it was then a disgrace. I was not a man yet, though, but that did not mean I cried often.

Something broke, and the tears fell. No longer did I feel like a soldier in training. Now I felt only like a lost child.

My head fell so my chin hit my chest, and I began to sob.

Even so, however, I was not left to it. I was not ignored for greener pastures. Tabrodite pulled me into a hug, an embrace that was ever new to me. Though she still reeked of the ocean (I'd seen it before during training), I felt a sense of security, though awkwardness trumped it. Still, I allowed this stranger to rest my head upon her shoulder as I cried.

"Shh, it's alright, child. It's alright. Can you tell me where Greece is?" she asked.

I didn't respond save for the shake of my head.

"Have you any family in Cheydinhal?"

The shake of my head.

"Any family here in Cyrodiil?" she asked gently. I shook my head again. "Oh dear," she whispered. "How did you find your way so far from home?"

I said nothing, and only sobbed. She rubbed my back gently.

"Take a breath, little one. It's okay. You're okay."

Now a huge conflict brewed in me. Being comforted was so alien to me that I began to wonder if I'd done something wrong. Part of me wished to push away this creature and ask that she allow me to gather my thoughts, and another part desired to stay close to her, and allow her to tend to me.

Though I did not know of them at the time, I would describe now the entire conflict I faced myself with as if I were a dwemer machine breaking down.

I wished to go home. I wanted to wake up in my bed at the barracks. While she held me, I put a hand to my throat, where I'd been cut. Though there was no longer an open wound (I had a feeling she would have treated it if there were), my fingers traced along a scar that had never been there before.

The simple touch brought fresh tears forth, and again I broke, even if I'd just been calming down before.

This woman was patient with me, though she was a stranger. If there was no Greece in this place, then I had no family here. If I had no family here, then what was my direction?

It took some time, obviously, for Tabrodite to calm me enough to hear my story, which she listened to over a bite to eat for both of us. And even then, she did not believe me. Tabrodite felt I had suffered some kind of awful trauma (which I kind of did), and either fabricated the home I claimed, or had lost some or all of my memory of it.

She never bought my story.

After I answered her questions inadequately, she answered any of mine, and through our conversations I learned some of her history.

She told me that she hailed from "Black Marsh," and when I failed to recognize the name, she described it to me. The description of the land alone was enough to suggest a tough life, at least if you're human. Argonians have it a little bit easier, since they can breathe underwater.

A little bit.

The land is almost entirely marshlands. There are many creatures that will do great harm to the unaware traveller. As long as you're not Dunmer the Argonians are kind enough. As soon as you show hostility, however, they'll not hesitate to strike back.

In addition to a potentially dangerous civilization, there's the issue of heat. It's absolutely unbearable. You need three day's worth of drinking water per each single day you want to stay there in order to survive. Even then, it's not safe. Don't even think about drinking the water from the swamps, unless you want dysentery.

The insects that call it home carry many diseases, from rockjoint to malaria, bone break fever to the black death. Finally, there are the monsters there that are not afraid to devour you. It would be wise, therefore, to take care to decide on where to sleep if you are outside, as the snakes like when you sleep.

It's wiser to just not go to Black Marsh. Tabrodite wouldn't let me go with her when she had to go for trade.

Ah, yes. That. I should probably mention that, once it became apparent that I not only had nowhere to go, but nobody to live with, she adopted me.

Why, yes, it took much adapting on my part, but I eventually settled in enough to not be so terrified of my surroundings that I would not leave the cottage.

It took longer than I care to admit to, however.

Tabrodite raised me as her own from then on, and being raised by her was far different from my previous life, as well as on par with it.

How was that?

End of Chapter

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 **1,909 words.**

 **This is not the story of Mia Tuk's rearing, but we will be seeing a little of it as we progress. That means we're not going to have many chapters all about Mia Tuk growing up. It will become tedious if I do so. Having said that, we will catch glimpses at his life under her, specifically the training he encountered.**

 **Next chapter further discusses Mia Tuk's life with Tabrodite, and then Mia Tuk and Alduin discuss their differences over a baseball game. Alduin is going to put some money on the Cubbies.**

 **Never mind. I'll think of a better next chapter.**


	4. Mia Tuk Grows Up

**Chapter 4**

 **Mia Tuk Grows Up**

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 **"The saddest thing I can imagine is to get used to luxury."**

 **-Charlie Chaplin**

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Things were and are not always what they appear to be.

One may think that, as she has been described thus far, Tabrodite would be a loving mother, and she was. I was never cared for as she cared for me before, but that does not mean that I forgot my training.

By the time I'd been living with her for two weeks, she'd taken notice of some of my antics. I never used free time for fun. It was always for training. I was no longer immersed in the agoge. I had to supply the training by myself, though as I was a child when she adopted me, she initially mistook it as childish antics. All young boys want to be knights, after all. Except for the one that lived down the block from me. He always wanted to be a princess. I didn't understand why.

It was around a month before she began to notice that my desires had gone past simple play. She didn't try to stop me. Instead, she helped me. She trained me not as Spartan, but as something else, for she was once a Shadowscale. I thank my fortune every day to have been taken in by her. Training myself would not have been near as effective.

There was much of Tabrodite's history that was not known to me. When I first began my life with her (which was awkward, for I would talk little and supper was often eaten in silence for both of us), I knew that she had weapons. She brewed alcohol primarily, but was sometimes tasked with delivering to nearby towns, or, rarely, her home in Black Marsh. Leaving town warrants carrying a weapon. I did not know how proficient she was with them.

She seemed to favor the bow, and this preference rubbed off on me, as well. She always carried a bow as black as night, as well as a dagger of a similar shade. Yes, a shield as well.

First of all, I did not know this piece of her past until several months hence of my adoption. Even then, I was left in the dark to a degree. I suspect there are some things in her past that she prefers leaving there.

She left the Shadowscales long before I arrived, and settled in Cyrodiil. Well, maybe not left. Or maybe so. Whenever I tried to get more information out of the woman, she would simply smile, don a thousand yard stare, give the dismissive wave of a hand, and say, "Please."

What can I say about the Shadowscales? They were a band of assassins employed by the governing body of Black Marsh, and were used primarily to end conflicts before they started. In other words, they waged "secret wars" so public ones would not begin.

Though I was proud to be Spartan (and still am), even I must admit that the Shadowscales would likely be able to fight my brethren to a standstill. I do not believe either side would ever achieve victory. It would always be a stalemate.

Training with Tabrodite taught me many skills. My Spartan upbringing gave me Pankration and a very high pain threshold. Tabrodite's training gave me skill with the blade, bow, sneaking, and more.

I knew that these skills would be necessary for me if I were to offer my services to Tabrodite during travel. I did not, however, know just how necessary they would be for me in the future. It is unlikely I would have survived for very long after fleeing Cyrodiil without it.

Yes, I fled from Cyrodiil. I'll get to that.

I should first say that you now know my childhood. From age eight to eighteen I studied under Tabrodite, my mother. She taught me how to brew alcohol, fight, evade, and on. However, there was one particular skill that she did not teach me, and that was literacy. I failed to learn to read in my past, for I'd not reached that point of my studies yet. Tabrodite did not teach me to read either because she confused words and letters far too often to help. She and I were saving up a little money to hire someone to teach me before the incident.

The thing that annoys me the most is, we were probably just a few months away from having enough when I did what I did.

We were both on the street, walking side by side. We were in the Imperial City, and had just delivered a few cases of sake to the White-Gold Tower.

Yes, sake. Not mead. I was as surprised as you might be.

My eighteenth birthday had passed not long before. Because the months and days here were not the same as those where I am from, we used the day she adopted me as my birthday (The 11th day of Heartfire, 4E 183).

As we walked, she smiled up at the sky. I remember it was clear, and the air was cool. Autumn was approaching, after all.

"What a fine day," she remarked. "The cool air is heaven on my scales."

"The cool air is heaven," I said. "Pure and simple."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I seem to recall a certain boy detesting the cold," she said with a chuckle. I shrugged.

"Cold and cool are mutually exclusive."

"Look at you, breaking out the large words. Perhaps you are ready to learn to read after all."

I smiled at her. "Perhaps."

However, she abruptly stopped walking. I turned to face her, confused.

"Mother? Something the matter?"

She responded, although only after a few seconds pause. A false smile crossed her features and she nodded.

"Yes, dear. Let us continue in silence for a moment; a Thalmor observes us."

The mere mention of the Thalmor made the hair on my arms stand up. They were awful, dreadful, stupid creatures. They believe that Mer are superior to Man, so much so that they would love to see us either wiped out or enslaved. I was not around for the Great War between the Aldmeri Dominion (the body from which the Thalmor draw existence) and the Empire, though I recall hearing that it was devestating. Many people call it World War I, for fear that another was on the horizon. Though the Aldmeri Dominion ultimately won, it was not without heavy losses. They ended up signing an agreement with the Empire allowing them to control certain aspects of the land instead of it all, so as far as they were concerned, the fight was not over.

Hence why these idiots were allowed in town. The trenches mages used for cover during the war remain just outside the Imperial City as either a memorial, or a preparation for part two.

Usually, the Thalmor don't really pay attention to the people- so long as they don't look at them, talk to them, act suspicious, breathe incorrectly, walk incorrectly, or are anything other than human or elf.

If you're a high elf, they're usually quite courteous.

This Thalmor agent probably would have ignored us completely if we were both one race. Seeing my mother, he grew suspicious and stopped her, which caused me to stop as well.

"Hold it. State your name and business in Aldmeri City."

"My name? Tabrodite. I am here in the _Imperial_ City on business."

I have a feeling that, had she referred to it as Aldmeri City, he'd have sent us on our way. However, she shared about as much love for these idiots as I did.

She made a move to walk past him, and he pushed her back a step.

"You would do well to learn the proper name of this city, lizard."

"I know the name of this city well. May we go, sir?"

"Not so fast. I would be well within my rights to arrest you for your insubordination, beast woman."

Mother was silent, as was I. The Thalmor agent seemed to visibly loosen up.

"However, perhaps that will not be necessary. You're not a bad looking beast woman. I grant you permission to remove your dress."

"Excuse me?"

He gestured to her dress.

"Your dress. Off with it."

Tabrodite blinked. "I would rather learn to play the harp."

The Thalmor agent grabbed the top of her dress, and pulled, but he didn't have a chance to harm her, because I stepped in.

Attacking the Thalmor has a harsh penalty. If you're Mer, it's torture, and then maybe life in prison. If you're man, it's torture, then death. Always.

This dog having dared to touch her breast enraged me. I did not care the consequence. His grip broke quickly when I grabbed his arm, and then his arm followed suite when I yanked it down over my shoulder. It wasn't supposed to bend that way.

The agent screamed a blood-curdling scream. With his other hand, he attempted to draw a knife, intent to kill. My fist found his throat before he could make his attack, however. I heard a satisfying "Crunch," and he fell backwards, writhing in pain and gasping for air.

Mother grabbed my arm.

"We go!" she ordered.

I shot one last look at the man that would do harm to her. His writhing about had slowed to a stop, and he lay staring up at the sky. He was turning blue.

By that time, another Thalmor agent had come across my quarry. In spite of all my hatred for them, I must give credit where it is due: Not many can boast the skill in magic that allows one to cast a healing spell with one hand and a magelight with the other.

Thalmor agents like to try and mark potential criminals so it's harder to get away. If the little ball of energy made contact with mother or myself, there would be trouble.

Fortunately, we were running, and quickly vanished down an alleyway. The spell caught a wall not far from us.

We continued running until we ended up on another street, far enough away from what happened that nobody knew what transpired.

Mother and I took a moment to catch our breaths.

"Idiot. You stupid, stupid boy!" she scolded. I continued catching my breath. "What in Oblivion was that?! I could have handled him myself. I could have gotten us out of that without violence."

I grew irritated.

"How? By removing your dress? Allowing him to touch you?"

"Idiot, I have our payment in hand from the delivery. If you'd have held yourself back, I..."

"It's done. We should get out of town."

She heaved a sigh, and looked out at the street. A man stumbled out of a bar and into the gutter.

"No. They will expect that."

"We can't go back to the inn, either."

Mother nodded. "I know."

She appeared thoughtful for a moment, and then turned to a manhole cover.

"Mia Tuk, do you remember telling me that bad smells no longer bother you?"

I nodded. She eyed me, and poked the manhole cover with her toes.

"I hope you were being truthful."

End of Chapter

* * *

 **1,900 words.**

 **That escalated quickly. Mia Tuk should be happy it wasn't Buddy the Elf. I would've wrecked him if it was.**

 **What's your favorite color?**

 **Next chapter covers dealing with Mia Tuk attacking Buddy the Thalmor Agent.**


	5. Mia Tuk is on The Run

**Chapter 5**

 **Mia Tuk is on The Run**

* * *

 **"There's hope for the species but not for the feces."**

 **-Mike Rowe**

* * *

The sewer was dark, dank, smelly and cold. Rats called it home, as did a few homeless people. The biggest danger was the other people. It was difficult to tell who would attack you and who would not.

Really, it was best to not be noticed, so I layed down in a bed of dried mud (at least, I hope it was mud) across from my entrance, waiting for her to return.

Water droplets continuously fell from above like filthy rain. I took great pains to avoid any rats, for fear of the Black Death.

Sleeping was no option, either. I did not even know if such a disease was really here, sleeping below such a bustling city. If it was here, then a touch was enough to bring me to my death.

So I remained awake well into the night, waiting for mother to return.

Why had she left? It was a damage report, as well as the securing of our escape. I was not the first to get on the bad side of the Thalmor. It was not an original story. Many have insulted them and gotten onto their bad side. As such, many needed a method of escape from the persecution.

That is what mother was looking for. My salvation.

Light from the night sky aurorae suddenly flooded into the sewer from above and I had to shield my eyes, though briefly. Nearby rats scattered quickly, and I heard two feet land with a light splash. The light was cut off, and another two feet landed.

"Mia Tuk?"

It was mother. I cleared my throat, and stood up.

"I am here."

There was little response from she and her companion but the pattering of feet.

Mother and her companion crossed the path over the sewer water to me. Though it was dark, they'd each gotten close enough for me to see.

First, mother held out a bottle of water and a loaf of bread with cheese. She smiled a comforting smile at me.

"You must eat, dear. I do hope you've not been touching the ground or walls with your hands. I will not feed you."

She suddenly frowned and lowered her hands, and, consequently, the food and water.

"Mia Tuk, did you touch anything in these sewers?"

I said nothing, and she turned towards her companion. She made a gesture, and her charge stepped forward. For the first time I saw her features.

I took a step back, for it was a High Elf. She did not seem to be surprised by my reaction. Instead of attacking or demanding my surrender, she cast forth a candlelight spell so we could all see.

Rats chittered and fled, and a few of the homeless ones took note of the light, but did nothing. Most of those down here feared magic.

She was quite beautiful, this Elf woman. She had long, blonde hair, gorgeous blue eyes, and I saw no sign of the bigotry that plagued so many of her blood. In her eyes I saw only kindness and compassion. She offered me a bar of soap and another bottle of water.

"Wash your hands so you may safely eat."

She poured some water over my hands and then offered me the soap, which I applied religiously to my hands. Then, she poured water upon them again, until I felt them squeak with cleanliness. With the tiny creature hovering above us (if you do not know, candlelight is actually a conjured fairy, whereas magelight is just magic), I could see the soapy water that fell from my hands had turned black. Mother offered me the bread, cheese, and water at last. I took a large bite of the bread and downed a considerable portion of water, having not nourished myself since midday.

"Mia Tuk, this is Mirne Saelinifeth. She will be our shepherd and our conductor."

I nearly choked upon my supper.

"Mother? What do you mean?"

"You have committed a crime and branded yourself an enemy of the Thalmor. You can not stay in town. They will find you here eventually," said the pretty elf woman, Mirne.

Mother held up a poster with my likeness upon it, as well as words that made no sense to me. I should also mention that our conversation was hushed, for fear of potential eavesdroppers.

"The man you defended your mother from did not survive. The Thalmor seek you for capital murder."

I had stopped eating by then, and stared at the two before me.

"You were right to do what you did, Mia Tuk," reassurred Mirne. "You only wished to defend Tabrodite's honor."

As if to confirm what had been said, mother smiled kindly at me.

"Now," continued Mirne. "The Thalmor are going to have a bounty on your head in all of their territories. So, you don't stay in their territory. That, sadly, leaves you only two options: Black Marsh and Hammerfell."

I looked to mother. As if reading my thoughts, she chimed in, "I would love to see my home again, dear. However, I fear that you would not only be unhappy there, but am unsure of our stability."

Mirne looked towards mother. "You remain neutral for now and are not the Thalmor's highest priority. However, it's only a matter of time before they get hungry again. I do not doubt that they will invade sooner or later."

Mother nodded. "I recommend Hammerfell. It's the only place that the Thalmor would not look for us."

Now, they looked to me for a vote. Though I would have liked to see my mother's home land, I knew that it would be impractical and I would not be as safe as I would be in Hammerfell. The Thalmor were defeated by the Redguards and forced to sign a treaty in which they were required to withdraw all forces from Hammerfell. Though it was possible that they would try to attack them again at a later date, I would be more than happy to stand beside the Redguards to defend them. Better to stand beside a group that has seen the enemy in a battle than hide in a neutral state.

"Hammerfell it is," I said. Mirne nodded.

"Excellent. However, there is a problem."

Of course there was.

"You can not stay in Cyrodiil for much longer. The Thalmor presence here is strong, to say the least. I think the safer route would be to Hammerfell from Skyrim. Be warned, however, that "safer" is a stretch. I assume you're familiar with the civil war raging?"

I nodded. I'd heard whispers of great conflict to the north from home, but it was also not my problem.

"It is a good thing that the conflict brews. As a consequence, the Thalmor presence there has lessened somewhat. Many of their agents organized a tactical retreat to Cyrodiil- to save resources, not for fear of being routed, of course. That also means that Skyrim is presently a fine bridge for you to cross to your salvation in Hammerfell. I strongly suggest you take the long way over the faster, dangerous way."

I crossed my arms. "And where, then, will I go?"

Mirne got closer, to whisper her response in my ear.

"First, to Cheydinhal. You need a bug out bag. Second, to Whiterun. You will need to cross Skyrim from there."

It was then that I brought up the important point: How would I get out of town without being seen?

Mirne nodded. "I'm glad you asked. The pattern of guards above is such that we were very lucky to be able to sneak into these sewers. However, we are not far from an exit near the walls, which are still in disrepair. I suggest we stay in the sewers until we reach the right exit, and then climb over the wall to make our escape."

Mirne looked beyond me at something. By now I was as nourished as I could then get and felt ready for the journey ahead.

"And there's no time like the present. We should move."

I didn't ask why. It was only a matter of time before they searched these sewers. The only reason I'd not been found yet is because they are so expansive and branched in so many directions.

We ran through the sewers for less than an hour, though it seemed like longer. Every time we heard footsteps or people talking, we had to hide. I at one point had to hide myself under one of the pathways, waist deep in sewage water. It was all I could do to keep from being found.

Mother, meanwhile, tore parts of her dress and gave herself the appearance of one of the homeless, and Mirne knew some kind of spell that would cloak her from the eyes of all.

It was a moment of rejoice when we reached the ladder to our potential freedom, or imprisonment. Naturally, the positivity was quickly replaced by dread. Mirne looked to Mother and I, then nodded. She was the first up the ladder, then, after looking about to ensure safety, Mother and I followed.

We wasted no time climbing over the rubble that used to be a sturdy wall. Mirne again went first, and I followed. The wall was high enough that I had to climb. I made sure to do so just like Mother taught me: three points of contact at all times.

Sure enough, when my feet touched ground again, she smiled at me. Then, we were off.

Once we got beyond the lake, we stayed away from the roads. At night we often travelled. In day we slept in shifts. Our foods cooked slowly on barely sustainable embers in lieu of fire.

Conversations? There were no conversations. We walked silently, ate silently, slept silently, and, when needed, swam silently. I was fortunate to have been raised thus far by an Argonian. Though I would never be able to breathe underwater like she could, some of my lessons under her tutelage focused on water, and how to do battle in it. Though it took years of discipline, I can now hold my breath for two minutes while exerting myself while submerged. It's more like three and a half if I am idle. So long as I do not have to do battle with an Argonian while submerged, I should be okay. Hopefully.

The trip back to Cheydinhal took us three days at our slow pace. Mirne and I remained outside the gates in some brush, while mother went home to gather supplies. Mirne had, while we travelled, forged another requisition that was often sent by courier service to us for certain types of alcohol. Mother was smart enough to line the two knapsacks with bottles, to give the illusion that she had another delivery to make.

When she returned to our hiding spot, she handed me my knapsack, which I quickly donned. Then, she offered a small dagger that I may defend myself with.

Mother smiled a mournful smile at me.

"I am sorry dear. Most of these funds-"

She gestured at the purse she carried upon her hip.

"Were to be for your reading lessons."

I shook my head. "We will have to worry about that another time."

Mother offered the pouch of money to Mirne, who in turn frowned at me.

"I am sorry for taking your savings. However, the one before you paid for your escape, and thus it is that you pay for the next one."

It was a great disappointment that I would not learn to read or write yet, but I brought it upon myself. I must reap what I sow.

I was brought back to my thoughts by mother.

"I trust you will get him to Whiterun safely."

Mirne nodded. "As per your desires, we will wait there until you can join us."

I turned to she who raised me. "Mother?"

She gave me the look that I always dreaded while I lived with her. Whenever it crossed her features, there was unpleasant news sure to follow.

Unsurprisingly, this was one of those times.

"Mia Tuk..."

This was definitely one of those times. Why else would she use the matter of fact tone?

"You are coming with us, right?" I asked, as if in some form of denial.

"I will not be travelling with you to Whiterun. I must take a seperate route- I have final preparations to make before I leave Cyrodiil behind. We may be tracked otherwise."

I stepped towards her. "Then I will accompany you."

"No, you will not. You will go to Whiterun and wait for me there. You need to get out of here."

"Mother-"

"Mia Tuk."

Her voice was stern now. I was quiet. Her features softened a bit.

"Do not worry about me. If they do catch me I have ways to ensure that they will not find you."

Her statements did not do much to quell my anxiety. What if they tortured her?

Still, I had to have faith in her, as she did in me. I nodded gently, and mother pulled me into one final embrace. She held me and I held her, and I did not want to let go. Funny, the ocean's smell no longer bothered me.

"I love you, dear."

Be it my hard heart or Spartan past, I did not respond in the affirmative, nor had I ever. I simply nodded. Mother nodded too, and released me. She took a step back, and Mirne pulled my arm. It was time to go.

It was time to go.

End of Chapter

* * *

 **2,305 words.**

 **I didn't make up the name Mirne something or other. Had to use The People's Republic of Google to find good high elf names. Point is, I thought it would be cute to have a high elf the leader of this escape route thingy.**

 **By the way, yes, this is a reference to the Underground Railroad.**

 **Next chapter covers Mia Tuk crossing the border and having some tea and bagels with Legionaries and Rebels. Then Godzilla eats them all.**

 **It's a work in progress, so just... okay?**


	6. Welcome to Skyrim

**Chapter 6**

 **Welcome to Skyrim**

* * *

 **"If your attack is going too well, you're walking into an ambush."**

 **-Infantry journal**

* * *

Mother always said that life was like a box of chocolates: you never knew what you were going to get. Likewise, any plans made become unpredictable. Even the best laid plans of mice and men go often asunder. Ours was no different.

The original plan was to camp in the outskirts of Bruma, and then proceed to Skyrim through the mountains. We would walk upon roads not taken, for those that were oft taken were also quite treacherous.

Mirne had a few scouts set up each time she brought someone across a border. Someone would go ahead of she and her companion to check for danger. She was wanted by the Thalmor for her smuggling operation.

That someone that she had checking her routes stopped us short of our camp near Bruma.

"Divines... what's this?" she mumbled as he approached. The scout shot me a dirty look, then whispered to Mirne.

I was not made part of the conversation they had, but by the look on her face, I guessed it was of nothing positive.

When he was done whispering to her, she grabbed his shoulder.

"You must go now to Cheydinhal and warn our contacts there. Go at once!"

"But, I'm tired..."

I did not see the look Mirne shot him, as her back was to me, but it seemed to be more than enough to startle him into obeying her command.

She returned to my side and did not beat around the bush.

"The Empire is investigating our network at the Thalmor's behest. Stay here. I will return to you with a carriage, and you will stow away."

"What of yourself?" I asked. She eyed me. "I will be with you, do not worry."

"Do you think mother is okay?"

She'd already started walking towards the city. I never got her answer, and this silence grated on my nerves.

My only hope for solace was the idea that I would see her again in the Skyrim town of Whiterun, for she was once a Shadowscale. Her past gave me a bit of hope that she would be safe. She had been raised not unlike I was. Being born under the sign of the Shadow meant she was destined to be a weapon.

I could only hope that if she had been caught, she fought her way out.

The sound of a carriage rolling nearer jolted me from my thoughts quite mercifully.

Before I could stand, Mirne hopped off and approached.

"What are you sitting around for? We go, now!"

For good measure, she threw me an old cloak and I hopped into the back of the carriage, where, bent double like a knock kneed beggar, I waited for my deliverance to the north- or my apprehension.

The night was a quiet one and quite cool. The aurora danced; the cosmic beauty it was. Crickets chirped, a breeze blew, and the stars twinkled. There were few clouds blocking the view, and I found some solace in the sky, as I have in the past.

When I pined for home growing up with Tabrodite, I would often step outside and watch the stars. It was not a matter of her refusing to comfort me. If I needed it, she would without fail. However, many in this land have called me very "independent," by which I am sure they mean "stubborn."

Again I found myself worrying, and again I sought comfort from above, though not from the Divines or the Daedra. I daresay it was I who comforted me then.

Who was responsible was not important once we crossed the border. We were on our way down the mountains, but I recall stopping at a cliff which offered a bit of a view. There were many trees obscuring my view, but I do remember eyeing a very large mountain. It easily climbed high enough to kiss the sky.

For a brief moment, I could have sworn I saw a dark figure make an orbit around the large peak, but I wrote it off as my eyes playing tricks on me.

"Welcome to Skyrim, Mia Tuk."

It truly was beauty incarnate. Cyrodiil is gorgeous too, but Skyrim was breathtaking. Instead of brown patches through the visible grass, I saw many rust red patches. It was curious, to say the least. I'd not known grass to come up other than green or brown.

And the raindrops, how red they were as well! I wondered for a moment if they were responsible for the tinge upon the blades.

"We should continue on," I suggested. Mirne didn't say anything.

"The rain is coming," I said. "Let us go now."

I turned to face her, and she did not open her mouth. It was as though I'd offended her. It wasn't until I saw light crimson leaking from her lips that I realized something was very wrong.

An arrow lay resting beside her. She'd ripped it out of her throat like it were nothing but a mere nuisance. Her head slowly turned to me, and her eyes gestured to the path behind me. A volley of arrows followed, but they did not hit us. Again, forcefully this time, Mirne gestured to the path behind me through her eyes.

Another arrow flew in our direction, and it carried her to death, for it caught her in the heart. She expired thus in the carriage, having had no chance to retaliate against the assailant.

I drew the dagger I'd been armed with quickly and got low in the carriage so I would be more difficult to hit. I stayed thus for several minutes, but no further attacks were directed at us.

The sound of approaching battle only then registered in my ears. I stole a glance out at the landscape and saw faint moving shapes and the glint of arrowheads dotting the ground to the distance like an ant colony. We hadn't been under attack. Mirne fell to stray arrows.

I took cover behind the carriage to dodge another volley of arrows that had been fired in our direction. As soon as they had stopped, I knocked Mirne from the carriage and followed suite.

I pulled her body up and held it before mine, that it may shield me. Then, I continued on into the woods, hiding myself behind her corpse whenever I heard arrows whistling by.

I, unfortunately, had to keep travelling nearer and nearer the battle, as any other direction was rapidly becoming impassable. Though it was dark and I was behind brush and Mirne, it was not long before I found myself able to see the armor of the belligerents, as well as the whites of their eyes.

I was close enough to be breathing the same air as they. One side garbed in blue armor; the other, red. Four horses lay dead in the chaos.

I recognized the red armor as that of the Legion. The blue armor was as yet unfamiliar to me, though I assumed them rebels. Blue is a very rebellious color to me.

I'd decided then that, being woefully ill equipped to deal with extensive battle, I would instead sneak by. At this point, dragging along Mirne's corpse was no longer a matter of survival so much as a matter of respect. I was determined to take it for burial. Preferably before it began to stink everything up. There's a finite time between rigor mortis and that, you know.

I'd not made it far to work on my plan, however. The battle had suddenly ended when one of the blue man group threw his weapon and shield to the bloodied grass. The others followed his example, and at the surrender the violence ceased.

It only then occurred to me that being caught with the corpse of a High Elf was not going to bode well for me. If she was still recognizable, maybe I'd get a pass. Unfortunately, the last volley destroyed any chance of identifying her by her once enticing looks.

So I figured I'd just keep on my way...

"You, there! Stop!"

Before I could even draw my dagger, there were four reds with drawn swords to my throat. I slowly put my hands out in surrender, letting Mirne's corpse slump to the side.

This could only end wonderfully.

End of Chapter

* * *

 **1,422 words.**

 **And now we're about to the part where the thing happens and the stuff from the game starts with things.**

 **Read that again. It totally makes sense.**

 **Next chapter, enter Alduin. The world eater, but only if it's 100% organic with no trans fat people or gluten.**


	7. An Occurance At Helgen Keep

**Chapter 7**

 **An Occurance At Helgen Keep**

* * *

 **"It is not titles that honor men, but men that honor titles."**

 **-Niccolo Machiavelli**

* * *

You'd think sleep would not be on my mind, having been declared a prisoner and a rebel. As soon as they had me bound, they pushed me onto another carriage. Mirne's body was hastily buried in the wilds to my great dismay. The most they gave her for a marker was two sticks poorly fashioned together.

The only thing I even bothered to say was, "This is not what it looks like." That alone was enough to get me a heavy hilt to the side of my head. When I next came to, I witnessed a man on horseback getting thrown to the dirt as the Imperials attacked. He must have ignored their orders to halt, assuming they even bothered to ask. I shut my eyes again, and his fate was temporarily unknown to me.

I'd regained myself early morning, though I am unsure of how long I was out. It felt as though it was a mere blink of the eye. My great thirst upon awakening made me unsure of myself.

I awoke to the sound of birds chirping, and a fellow prisoner praying to Tiber Septim under his breath. The Imperials that captured us were eerily silent, and I found my ears easily focusing on the creaking of the wheels.

I shifted to get comfortable in my seat, accidentally bumping a knee against the side of the cart.

The man that was praying took a break to leer at the other two occupants besides he and I. Both wore the blue armor I'd associated with rebellion.

"Hey, you."

My head rose slowly so I may look upon the man across from me. Gods, but his voice was monotonous. Listening to him speak could anesthetize Vaermina in seconds.

"You're finally awake. You'd been trying to cross the border, right? Same as that thief."

He gestured with his head to the man beside him. I fought the urge to scoff at the juxtaposition.

The dull voiced man in the blue armor was built like a brick house. Thick, but only with great strength. He had scars on his arms and scraggly yet long blonde hair. It was a travesty to me. My hair was always kept short. Less for an enemy to grab hold of.

The man he'd gestured to was a polar opposite. He looked like a famine victim, and wore no such garb as the other rebels. He wore ratty old robes, not unlike myself, had short red hair, and did not look too pleased with the man he sat beside.

Finally, the resting skeleton opened his mouth.

"Damn you, Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine before you came around. The Empire was nice and lazy. If they weren't already riled up by you lot, I'd have gotten away on that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell."

I took some offense that this stick was on a similar path to mine. I felt as though the world was comparing him to me.

"You."

I continued eyeing the stick. He wandered up my person with his eyes and how I desired to break him then.

"Neither Stormcloak nor Imperial. Wrong place wrong time, right?"

I said nothing, having chosen to save my words for my last. For a stick, this man was surprisingly brave in the face of demise. Or was he unaware?

He took my silence as an affirmative and leaned forward.

"You and I? We don't belong here with them. We're innocent. Well, innocent-ish. When we get to where we are going, let me do the talking, okay? I'll get us out of this, shall we say, misunderstanding?"

He then looked forward at the man next to me. Like the monotone man, he was well built, with long blonde hair and blue armor, though something was a bit different: He wore a brown cape as well and his mouth was bound.

"What's his problem?" asked the horse thief.

"Mind your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true high king!"

If there was ever a time someone wore perfectly the look of a rude awakening, it was then. The horse thief paled, and his eyes widened. For a moment I thought he was going to apologize.

"Wait," said the horse thief. "If that is Ulfric Stormcloak, then..."

He looked towards the path, where the carriage was headed.

"Oh, Gods. Where are they taking us?"

"Sovngarde of course, horse thief."

Everyone on the carriage must have been thinking that we were dead men. At least, the blue man group and I were aware of such a fact. I only hoped that I'd have a warrior's death. No lynching. It's quite unsafe.

The horse thief didn't exactly take it well. Apparently, he had a lot to live for. He soiled himself then, so his corpse didn't have to.

I did not believe that I would be sent to Sovngarde. It is a warrior's paradise, and though I at the time had been versed well in the teachings of my Spartan past, and my mother's Shadowscale past, I'd never seen a true, worthy battle. I did not partake in the events that lead to my state as then. I also do not count my killing the elf as a fight. It was over too quickly.

"No, this can't be happening. This isn't happening," muttered the horse thief. He began doing so continuously. I swear the driver of the carriage glanced back at him in pity for a moment. Must've been a new recruit.

"Hey," said monotone man. "From what village do you hail, horse thief?"

The horse thief continued muttering to himself until he was kneed gently by the man beside me. Monotone man repeated himself, and the horse thief's horrified look gave way to a puzzled one, albeit temporarily.

"Why do you care?" he asked. I recall a small blossom of hope in his voice, as though the right answer would win him back his life.

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home," said the driver.

"Rorikstead. I'm... I'm from Rorikstead."

Everyone was silent for a few moments. All I could hear was the sound of the carriage on a brick road. Somewhere in the trees, birds chirped. The golden hour had passed. It was a beautiful morning. Crisp, but sunny. I could not ask for a more beautiful seeing off.

"General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!"

Looking towards the source of the voice granted me the view of a gated town. Imperials lined the large walls, and the doors opened with a deafening creak.

Then, a man that sounded quite foreign made his voice known.

"Great. Let's get this over with."

I heard a muffled scoff from the man beside me.

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me," muttered the horse thief.

From nowhere, I felt a pang of sadness, as if I were upset that he was upset. Or perhaps I was not looking forward to being beheaded. Apparently the head survives for five to twenty seconds or so after decapitation. Though I could not read, I was hoping they at least lined the basket with some pretty paintings to look at.

I later learned that the sadness was likely from one of the Divines. More on that later, though.

"Look at him."

My head whirled to look at the monotone man again. He glared off into the distance at a balding man in the red garb of the Imperials.

"General Tullius, the military governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damned elves. I knew they had something to do with this."

My eyes and the eyes of General Tullius met for the brieftest of moments. I saw no malice in his eyes. As far as he was concerned, I was just a prisoner set to be executed. Additionally, it's not appropriate for a General to show hatred.

Still, I had no such limitation. I wanted my eyes to devour his soul. I wanted to be the one that knocked the weapon from his grip; that slaughtered scores of his soldiers that I may drag him to the next myself. I wanted to be the one that killed him. I wanted to be the last thing he saw.

He broke eye contact with me too soon for any of my desires to meet him.

"...with the juniper berries mixed in."

The carriages were progressing through town now. It seemed well to do. I saw no tramps in the streets and none of the unspeakable plagued the road sides. It was as if the town had been totally cleansed in preparation for the executions. I felt spoiled.

"Funny," said the monotone man. "When I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers made me feel safe."

He'd been doing plenty of talking for all of us. I partly feared losing my chance at last words if he'd used them all up.

"Who are they, Pa? Are those soldiers? What are they doing here?"

I turned my head partially over my shoulder, managing to catch a glimpse of a small child being shooed behind an older woman, then into a house. If only mother could see me now.

The driver on the carriage in front of us uttered a "Whoa!" The wheels of the carriage creaked to a stop. Ours fell in beside it and reached a stop as well. I felt feeling leave my limbs, and my heart began to beat faster. How I hoped the gallows would not meet my eyes! It would be just like the Legion to get my hopes up for a beheading and then take it away from me.

"Why are we stopping?" asked the horse thief in a panic.

"Why do you think? End of the line," muttered the monotone man. The driver hopped down from the front of the carriage.

"Let's go. Shouldn't keep the Gods waiting for us."

Now the soiled horse thief resumed his prayer to Tiber Septim, but faster, as though a record breaking utterance would earn him a pardon. Though we had not exerted ourselves, his rags were soaked through in sweat. One by one, we were instructed to hop off the carriage. I remember the popping of my joints as I stood for the first time in hours.

"You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! Please, this is a mistake!"

His words fell on deaf ears. For the first time, I heard a new voice barking instructions to us.

"Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time," she shouted. The two big men and I were emotionless at her words. The horse thief visibly shook. I thanked the Gods that it was a chopping block and not the gallows.

"Empire loves their damned lists," muttered the monotone man.

I stepped to the side of the man whose mouth was bound so I may see our captors. The woman who commanded us was a captain. I recognized the red sash on her waist. The man beside her had a black sash; he was a lieutenant. To her right, another two Imperials were reading off the names of those on the other carriage. Our lieutenant stepped forward.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm."

The man whose mouth was bound stepped forward, then turned left and made his way towards the block, where he waited.

"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric," said the blue garbed prisoners in unison.

Having called forth the first prisoner of our side, I soon realized that the Legion had meticulously organized this whole execution down to the names being called from the lists. Our carriage called Ulfric, then the other called a prisoner ("Ilene Dover!"). Then, ours did again:

"Ralof of Riverwood."

The monotone man stepped forward, and suddenly he wasn't so talkative anymore. Shame. He could've lulled the entire town to sleep and allowed for our escape.

"Jugs McBulge," called forth the other Imperial partners. In my peripheral, another man stepped towards the soon to be busy chopping block. I wondered if they'd clean it between uses.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

With that, the horse thief stepped forward. However, instead of turning towards the block, he chose that moment to continue begging.

"No, I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!"

The Captain put a hand on her sword. "To the block, prisoner."

Any desire I had to try and flee was suddenly drained when Lokir attempted to do so. First, the Captain demanded that he halt. Once he got a little more than a stone's throw from us, she shouted for the archers.

The sound of the arrows cutting through the air made me reminiscient of my time training in archery, courtesy of she who raised me. I've killed a few game animals before in the wilds under her tutelage. Never a human being, though.

Lokir fell to the ground in a broken heap not two seconds after the Captain called the archers. With my vision, I could barely make out an arrow in the center of his back. He was caught in the heart. Probably didn't feel anything.

"Anyone else feel like running?" sneered the Captain. Beside her, the other Imperials continued calling off names as if nothing had happened.

"Eugene Whosehole."

And now I was alone. The man with the list squinted, then whispered something to the Captain. She muttered back, and beckoned me forward.

"Who are you?" asked the list holder.

Now, I had a few options. If I lied, what would happen? Suppose I managed to somehow lie my way out of the ordeal. I would likely still be held for questioning, which meant constant danger of being handed to the Thalmor. I much preferred being executed to being tortured.

On the other hand, if I said my name, and somehow escaped, I would have to keep running all the way to Hammerfell, which would mean missing the rendevous with mother at Whiterun. A letter sent by courier from Hammerfell may quell that, though. Not that I was hopeful of escape, given Lokir's attempt.

Whether I lied or not, I was a few steps away from my death. I decided I wanted to go out with a clear conscience.

"Mia Tuk of Cheydinhal."

Apparently my escape from Cyrodiil was either not noted in Skyrim, or the name was common. Neither the Captain nor Lieutenant looked surprised.

"You're a long way from Cyrodiil, foreigner. Why are you interfering in a war that is not your own?"

I didn't bother trying to proclaim I was innocent. I saw where that was going to get me.

"I was a noncombatant. Just watching the battle for my own arousal."

His eyes slowly left the list and met mine. I said nothing else, and he turned his head to the Captain.

"What should we do? He's not on the list."

The Captain stepped forward, and she seemed to size me up. I tried my best to look bold. The way she was eyeing me, I wondered if she was considering setting me free.

Apparently my acting wasn't very good. She gestured to the others.

"Forget the list. He goes to the block."

I scowled.

"By your orders, Captain. I'm sorry. We will make sure your remains are returned to Cheydinhal. Follow the Captain, prisoner."

So much for leniency. Isn't that right, Lokir? Lokir?

The other cart's final prisoner was called to the block. ("Eric Shawn!") He stood beside me as we all stared at the block, the basket, and the executioner. We were to be executed just in front of a large tower overlooking the city, providing a beacon of safety to the lost traveller.

The irony was not lost on me.

"Give them their last rites," spat the Captain that doomed me. A priestess that I'd only then noticed stepped forward, and raised her hands.

About my religious beliefs: At home, we were brought up to serve all of the Gods equally, but we were permitted to have our favorites. Mine was Apollo, though I'd passed far too young to do much good, obviously.

Upon my arrival here, it was not long before I became aware that the religion here was totally different. None shared my beliefs. Though I still believe in the Gods I worshipped as a child, I felt I had to also give myself to the Gods here, for fear of upsetting them. So I listened at many houses of worship to different tales about Akatosh, Mara, Stendarr, Arkay, Dibella, Julianos, Kynareth, and Zenithar. I knew the least about the man-God, Talos. That was due to my being raised in a land where his worship was banned.

I prayed to each God individually for a while. It would mean my staying up fairly late, as I had to include my Gods as well (especially Zeus. I greatly fear his wrath). Once I got so tired that I could hardly stay awake when mother would train me, I decided that something had to change. I took to praying to a few Gods every night on a strange schedule.

Tabrodite welcomed all of the divine Aedra into her home. That being said, I was permitted to attend mass for them and pray to them. The daedra were strictly forbidden. So was Sithis.

You may be curious as to how an ex-Shadowscale could get away with such a condemnation. It was blasphemy. I never did find out the answer, but I suspected it had something to do with her expulsion from the group. All I really know of Sithis is what mother told me: He is nothing incarnate. Emptiness. He is malevolent, yet at the same time, benevolent. In other words, he is beyond reason. It's impossible to explain just who he is.

I sincerely found myself hoping that I would not find out. If I didn't find myself being ferried by Charon, I could only hope that the Gods of this land would take me.

One blue garbed prisoner stepped forward and interrupted the priestess. I scowled.

"For the love of Talos, shut up. Let's get this over with," he shouted. Before the priestess could even step aside, he was offering his head. I couldn't help but think that he was planning to off himself sometime that week regardless.

"My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials," he spat. "Can you say the same?"

The executioner said nothing (it is customary for Imperial executioners to remain silent throughout their "activities"), and slowly raised his axe above his head.

It was then that I heard a distant roar. I could actually _feel_ my pupils shrink.

Suddenly, thoughts of flight began to soar through my head. I saw my enemies burning beneath me in a landscape of only violence. I imagined plumes of smoke as far as the eye could see. Most importantly, I imagined nothing but fear and submission in the eyes of my enemies.

And then, it was gone. When I came to again, the Captain was kicking the body of the suicidal prisoner aside. She stepped back to her original spot, and pointed to me.

"Next, the unknown!"

Just when I was ready to chalk the roaring down to my imagination, I heard it again. This time, however, I didn't zone out. I saw everyone else react curiously, too.

"There it is again," said the General. "What could that be?"

"I said, 'Next prisoner!'" grumbled the Captain. I felt my ears tingling, as if expecting to hear the sound again.

"To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy," said the list holder.

My legs felt numb and my heart burned as I walked. I feared what mother's reaction might be to my death at the hands of those I wanted to escape from. It felt as though I had been walking for my whole life before I reached the block. The Captain placed her foot on my back and gently pushed me down so my neck rested in the crevice. The first prisoner's blood was warm still, and it stuck to my neck.

"Last words, prisoner?"

For the first time since describing myself earlier, I spoke.

"The curse of conquest upon this town," I said. "And all who lay in its wake."

The executioner then brought up the axe. This was it. I rolled my eyes down and saw no paintings in the basket.

Then it happened.

I caught him first through my peripheral vision.

"What in Oblivion is that?!" shouted one of the Imperials (I was unsure of who).

My execution abruptly delayed, both I and what would have been my killer stared in awe at the creature now perched upon the large tower. Its scales were blacker than black, and its eyes were dark red. Its wings, its tail, its entire body was a weapon. This creature was at least larger than twenty men. An aura, or some kind of dilation surrounded its body. Through some kind of sorcery it was possible to see what was behind this creature while staring at its front.

There was no attack for a moment. The creature looked upon all at the scene. For a moment I wondered what its intentions were.

Then, it Spoke.

There was an explosion, like a whip magnified countless times. My ears gave up and all I heard was ringing. The sky bled red and opened up, releasing pure wrath upon the town. Just as I began to come around again, the creature Spoke once more. This time, to me.

 _"Rodraan wah laag, joor."_

It was at that point that my consciousness left me.

End of Chapter

* * *

 **3,674 words.**

 **I apologize for the delays. Last minute hell time for my fall semester has kept me occupied. Work's not helping.**

 **Actually, the money helps a little.**

 **To my reviewers, thank you for the kind words and suggestions. I love hearing from you, and am sorry I do not say that kind of thing a whole lot. Now, bring it in. Give me a hug. No? Well, how about Alduin? He get sensitive.**

 **Next chapter covers Mia Tuk's unconsciousness, and what he goes through to keep from dying for a while.**


	8. The First Horseman Cometh

**Chapter 8**

 **The First Horseman Cometh**

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 **"Always forgive your enemies- nothing annoys them so much."**

 **-Oscar Wilde**

* * *

Mother was quite the pacifist, though she would not hesitate to fight back if one of us wound up in danger. She was happy to assist me in learning the way of the warrior, though continuously hoped that I never needed the knowledge.

I'd set up a small dummy that I could try my sparring with. We not a rich family by any means- saving up to teach me to read took many years, and our home was but one room. However, anything is a toy for a child. Bugs, rocks, fire, twelve pound darts- _anything._

In my case, the dummy was a barrel with some straw, a bucket, and a stick fashioned together. My first sword was a stick I broke off a tree on our yard that, in the right light, seemed to have a face, complete with a surprisingly well kept mustache.

The sword needed to be replaced from time to time, of course, but that's neither here nor there.

I recall mother approaching with a cup of water in each hand. I'd just swiped at the dummy from the left, right, and followed through with a stab. The "knock, knock, knock" of my makeshift sword against the barrel was soothing to me in a way.

I turned to mother, and saw her smile comfortingly at me.

"It's good to know I have a knight here in case of emergency," she said. I set the stick against the barrel and took the glass of water she offered gratefully.

"Mia Tuk, why do you not play with the others?"

I eyed her silently until I finished sipping the cup.

"Training is all I like to do."

"Have you ever played stick ball?"

I shook my head.

"Dodge ball?"

I shook my head.

"Red Rover?"

I shook my head.

"Mother Mara... Tag?"

I shook my head. She sighed heavily.

"What did you do for fun back home?"

"Fight."

My one word answers proved bothersome to her. Apparently even Shadowscales were given time to themselves for play. It almost seemed to physically hurt her to have to explain to me what I could do other than train myself as best as I could.

She introduced me to a group of neighborhood children that played Red Rover. The constant chanting of names gave me a headache. I was then introduced to tag. The repetitive nature of the game bored me. The only game I actually enjoyed was stick ball. She called it Cheydinhal's pastime.

Still, however, she continuously introduced me to new games. She was surprised at my disdain for dodge ball, given my apparent violent nature. I didn't like dodge ball because I always got stuck with teams that took it too seriously. I was forced to memorize the five D's of dodgeball: Dodge, Duck, Dip, Dive, and Do-not-aim-for-the-throat-anymore-Mia-Tuk.

Ultimately, however, my passion was in combat training. After seeing my repeated returns to training no matter what game I was introduced to, mother began to train me.

That's not to say, however, that she didn't make me stop every now and again to play a sport. I remember playing stick ball with a bunch of neighborhood kids. Without fail, an elderly wood elf that lived near us would spot us playing in the street, and call, "Down to the ball park, boys!"

Every time we played, he would appear and say that very phrase. Every time he said that very phrase, we would appear to ignore him. It was only because we were...

...Up until the last time we played on the street. I know because I was up at bat when we sent the ball careening through his bedroom window. Before he even appeared, we were scattering, but I still remember his infuriated shout, " _Down to the ball park, boys!"_

I bring up stick ball for this reason: one of the ways to get an out when you're in the field is to tag the runner with the ball. That being said, being able to dodge is necessary if you want to be good at it, which brings me to this particular day of training. I know, long walk for a short drink of water.

Mother and I stood behind the house. She carried a wooden sword she'd found from the days of her training. I was unarmed. It was funny, really. The lesson before this had been of never letting go of your shield.

"Sometimes, in spite of your best efforts, you will be caught unarmed."

I made a move for a small wooden shield, but Mother was obstructing my reach after a few powerful leaps. Her sword's tip pointed at my throat.

"I am quick and light on my feet, Mia Tuk. You will not retrieve any equipment so easily if an opponent remains on the defensive."

I was still, then. She gently poked me in the chest with the sword.

"Remaining still as a statue will mean your meeting with the eight will occur much sooner."

I put my arms out.

"So, what now? Do I take the sword from you?"

She shook her head. "Even if you managed to do so, it's best to know when to take an offensive and when to evade."

She slowly traced a slice beside my body with the sword, then gently nudged me with the flat of it.

"You must be able to dodge these strikes. From doing so you will begin to learn to dodge projectiles."

"Mother, I have the phalanx-"

She shook her head. "Useless without sufficient manpower. You stand alone in this exercise, Mia Tuk."

I recall crossing my arms before my chest. All was silent for a few moments, before Mother smiled.

"Alright, how about this?"

With a well timed toss, Mother flipped the sword in her hand and held the grip out to me. I took it uncertainly, and she and I switched places.

"Keep me away from the shield, Mia Tuk. If you can tag me but once with the sword, victory is yours. If, however, I retrieve the shield and knock you to the floor or the sword from your grip, you lose."

I took a better grip upon the sword and smiled determinedly.

"And we go."

I recall opting to strike first, so I tried to stab at her, but she rolled out of the way on the balls of her feet. Next up was a vertical slice- she dodged it so smoothly an outside observer would have mistaken it for choreographed.

Each attack made by my younger self met nothing but air. I became so determined to land a strike that I did not notice what her movements had caused.

Suddenly I was facing the shield again. She rolled away from a strike, retrieved the shield mid roll, and was on her feet again at a moment's notice.

She performed a feint with the shield as her weapon, and I made a small, but fatal error in responding to it.

The thrust of the sword was knocked to the side by the shield, and her foot sent me to the floor. Before I could regain my feet, however, she had my sword to my own throat.

"And that makes you mine," she said. She dropped the sword and offered the hand to help me up, which I took in gratitude. It was then that she began to fuss over me.

"I do apologize for the kick, child. Are you hurt?"

I ignored the question as I usually did. I'd lived much of my life to then among Spartans. There was no such thing as pain anymore, as far as I was concerned.

"Is that what you wish for me to do?" I asked. She smiled at me.

"It is possible to deflect projectiles by use of blades, but very difficult and far too risky. It's a boast. Fools die in such ways. The smarter strategy, therefore, is to dodge the attacks to the best of your ability. Manipulate the battlefield as you do so."

And so, barefoot on the frozen dirt, I took up a stance not unlike Mother had moments before.

"It is time. Retrieve the shield, child. Show me the evasion of a true fleetfoot!"

I was forced out of my recollections by Ralof. The man had me by the shoulders and was shaking me with such force that I feared decapitation again.

"You must awaken! The Gods will not give us another chance! Come on, let's go!"

He pulled me to my feet, and I almost fell forward. My arms remained bound behind me and my head throbbed.

The town was in absolute chaos. The Imperial archers were attacking with great fervor, the soldiers stood still with their swords gripped tightly and their eyes never deviating from the menacing black beast.

The black beast.

Slowly I felt my knees begin to give out beneath me at the sight of it. I would have likely been carried to my death quite swiftly had I not still been gripped by Ralof.

"What in the name of all things holy are you doing? This is no time for rest. Find your feet now!"

He yanked my arm as if I were a small child enthralled by a candy store window. When I failed to respond appropriately, he smacked me.

Suddenly, I found myself again. Giving my head a quick shake, I looked over my shoulder at the chopping block again, spotting the dead headsman with his neck resting in the nook where mine had only just been.

Again the black beast appeared over the horizon, and again I was spotted.

Whatever it had done to me to knock me senseless before was not repeated. It Spoke to me again in the foreign tongue. The air itself seemed to listen, and it bent to the will of the beast. Meteorites began to slam down from the heavens with such force that some would actually explode while still in midair.

Looking towards Ralof, I noted a tower with a door open. Ulfric Stormcloak was beckoning the both of us forth while the chaos ensued.

I also had to flinch when I saw Ralof actually catch one of the falling meteorites and toss it aside like it were a ball.

I am not making that up.

As for my strength, I was quite certain that I was not Heracles. I'm but a man. A shield would not help me here, either. It also wouldn't help that my hands were bound.

Mother's prancing about my attacks with the precision only a true Shadowscale could have ran through my head again. I found myself emulating her as we ran for the tower. Each time I caught the shadow of a falling rock, I evaded, and though my fleetfooted dodge was not nearly as graceful as hers, it did end up saving my life.

It didn't do much to give me a good self image in front of Ulfric Stormcloak, though. I noted his scowl when I passed but otherwise did not respond.

Ralof slammed the door shut just as the black beast released its flame. The tower was quick to fill with smoke, and my chest began to burn with each breath I heaved.

"Jarl Ulfric, do my eyes deceive me?"

Ralof let out a raspy cough.

"Could the legends be true?"

Ulfric's first sentence in my presence were in a mutter.

"Legends don't burn down villages."

 _Yein Alduin, sahrot jun._

I gave the gentle shake of my head to clear it. Ugh, but this chaos was causing great stress.

There was an explosion outside. The already burning door began to send splinters into the confines of the tower.

Ulfric's second sentence in my presence was quite loud.

"We need to move, now!"

"To the stairs, Mia Tuk!"

Let the record show that this was the first time Ralof used my name and also the last. I think he forgot it.

I was the second one to the stairway. The first was a rebel that I was not familiar with. Perhaps she was one of the ones from the other carriage? I did not recognize her face.

I'll never forget those moments climbing the staircase. I was but a pace behind her. We had made it not a third of the way up the tower before we heard rumbling. Small stones began to fall from above. The sound of coughing echoed through the cramped space. My head began to throb in protest of the smoke.

As for the rebel in front of me, I recall what happened to her clear as day. I suspect it will haunt me to my grave.

The black beast's head shot through the wall before me and knocked the rebel off balance. Before she could recover, it launched a mighty blast from its maw, and she was sent down to the ground floor in literal pieces. My tattered rags were quickly littered with gore. Though I do not recall doing this, I am told that I shook bits of scalp off my form as if it were old laundry.

After the black beast removed its head from the wall (it stole a glance at me on the way out), great piles of rubble had blocked the way up to the top of the tower, and the doorway we had entered through had been engulfed in flames (hay stored nearby went up as well). That left me with one option, which Ralof made quite clear to me.

"Next to this tower lies an inn. It was home to the best mead in town. You can make the jump. We will catch up to you. If you happen upon any juniper berry mead in there, would you kindly procure a bottle or three for me?"

There was another loud crash, and Ralof shoved me towards the hole in the wall.

"Go, now!"

The height difference between where I stood in the tower and where I would be landing was, I don't know, five meters? It felt far higher when I stood there at the ledge.

I did not hesitate much longer. A Spartan betrays no fear, and so I leapt.

It felt as though I was being attracted to the ground below. For a brief moment I feared missing the inn and falling to my death, for much rubble had landed between the inn and tower. I was quickly reassured when I landed on a wooden floor. I managed to avoid too much damage from the fall by rolling forward, and that was the good news.

The bad news was, the inn was near totally engulfed in flames. I didn't manage to stand all the way up again before the floor gave out beneath me, and I fell another three or four meters to the ground floor below. I landed on what remained of the bar, and I felt pain blossom within me as two ribs cracked, and my shoulder was dislocated. It took considerable effort to roll off the bar to the floor. When my feet touched down, my ribs were jostled, and I took a knee momentarily.

The smoke hung thick in the air, and coughing served only to increase my pain.

I knew, however, that to stop in the inn would warrant death, and so I got to my feet, let out a raspy cough, and started for the door. Before I left the inn, however, I slammed by arm into the wall repeatedly, until I heard the satisfying "pop" of its return to the proper socket. Gods, but the pain was absolutely _excruciating._ It was quite possibly the worst thing I had ever experienced. I hated that it forced me to my knees again in such a short time.

My aching chest burned with the smokey air and I had to push onward, though every fiber of my being questioned my own limits. I fell to a knee twice. Me. A Spartan. Had I been a mere cushioned babe my whole life, I do not doubt that my story would have ended. I would have been writhing in pain or worse, unconscious. Either would result in my end.

I was no cushioned babe, though. I was trained. I knew to roll when I first leapt, for it would spread my energy and displace my fall. Pain meant nothing to me. I would have time to worry about it later. I pushed myself from the ground, and fled from the burning building.

The crisp air was a far stretch from fresh. Death and smoke hung heavy in it and made it difficult to see. Embers flew through the air and I felt more comforted relying on my hearing to protect myself than my vision.

All at once my rear found the ground and my ribs protested. For a moment I thought I was being stopped by the Imperials, but it was a boy. A man in the familiar red garb beckoned him forth, though I did not hear what he said to him- the black beast chose that moment to screech. For a moment I wondered if it was wounded.

The boy ran around me without saying a word, and past the Imperial. He, surprisingly, helped me to my feet.

"Still alive, prisoner? Come with me if you want to stay that way!"

I remained wary, for I recognized this fellow. This was the same man that sent me to the chopping block. At the time, however, I didn't exactly have a wide array of options. It was either follow him, or return to the burning inn, and maybe try to find Ralof his mead. So I followed the man that not an hour prior sent me to die.

Funny. Many experts would tell me that trusting the man that was to send me to die is extraordinarily unwise, generally speaking. However, at the time I was convinced that time was running out, and I preferred the concept of dying by the hands of the reds than in the claws of the black beast. At least the imperials would not take their time of it. The beast seemed to enjoy inflicting critical injuries on its victims, only to spare them, as if it wished for them to meet a slower demise. The act disgusted me, though I later found out that most of the time the counterattack was too hot for it to finish every opponent.

Each attack by all able bodied men bounced off of its thick scales. I wondered if the attacks were simple nuisances, like we consider bug bites.

The man whose loyalty was now in question stopped abruptly. And out in the open, no less. On the nearby walls I saw the black beast grab an archer in clawed feet, and toss him into the sky and out of my view. Even in spite of the chaos, I could hear my uneasy ally growl.

It was then that I noticed Ralof standing between us and another building which looked to have suffered significantly less damage thus far than everything else. Though my eyes kept floating upward to ensure the black beast wasn't coming for me next, I couldn't help but eye Ralof and the list man. How similar in build they were!

"Ralof, you damned traitor! Get out of our way!" demanded list man. Ralof did not move.

"The rebellion lives, Hadvar. For old times sake, I will spare your life on this day. The only question is, will that dragon be so wistful?"

There was a roar, and the beast flew overhead. Hadvar ducked, but Ralof did not move.

"Fine! I hope that dragon takes you _all_ to Sovngarde! Come, prisoner! This way!"

And so arrived an interesting choice. Ralof and the list man- Hadvar both seemed to have taken a liking to me. Ralof had retreated to one door while Hadvar went for another.

For the record, I had spoken few, if any words to the two of them. To this day I am not certain of why they each wanted me to travel with them. I think it's my dashing good looks.

I had to decide who to follow quickly, and I _knew_ I would need one of them if I wanted to survive the day.

The ache of my ribs and shoulder prevented me from dwelling on my choices for too long.

I sprinted after Ralof. It wasn't that I particularly liked the guy- I didn't. However, of all the people involved in this mess, he was the only one that seemed able to maintain his composure throughout this ordeal.

I must have made the right choice, because Hadvar was the next victim, this time of a ball of fire released from the black beast's maw. The thing is, I heard it Speak once more, but the explosion masked the words. At the time I didn't know what it said, of course.

The fireball expanded rapidly in an explosion large enough to engulf three men. I would have been among the dead had I followed him.

Hadvar was blasted to bits by the explosion. He likely didn't feel it.

I do not mean to sound like a preacher or a saint. I didn't get my scars falling over in a house of worship. Having said that, I always pray that my victims do not feel too much pain. If I can help it, I make sure those I must defend myself against do not know what the suffering is.

At least, now I do.

The doors slammed shut behind us. Almost instantly my eyes locked onto a dead rebel near the opposite wall. I did not recognize him from the chopping block. A long slash ran across his throat, and I instantly thought of the scar that ran across mine. Its permanence serves as a constant reminder of my origins in this realm.

I broke free of my thoughts to spy Ralof shutting the dead man's eyes in respect.

"Requiescat in pache, brother. To Sovngarde with you, now."

With that, Ralof turned to me.

"Now then, did you find any of my mead?"

I scowled, and turned my back on him to show him my bound hands. I could hear a heavy hand smack against a forehead.

"I can't believe I forgot to do this before. Hold still, umm, partner."

I would like to bring up one more instance, as I am unsure you, the reader, adequetely comprehend just how impossible everything about Ralof is. With a jerk I felt the ropes binding my wrists fall, and at last- they had been digging into my wrists and gnawed at them enough to draw blood. Having said that, I turned around and put a hand on one wrist, rubbing the blood away to see how bad the wounds were. It was then that I noticed:

Ralof wasn't carrying a knife. Come to think of it, he had no weapon on him to speak of at the time that could conceivably tear the ropes on my wrists with. The only thing he had was a mallet.

He managed to tear the ropes on my wrists with one hand. He held the mallet in one and tore apart the ropes with the other.

I swear on father Akatosh, _I am not making that up._

"Quickly now. Take that armor- you need it more than he does."

As for my personal preference, I swear by light armor and accept no substitute, except for when I do, mainly because at least light armor doesn't encumber me. Thankfully, this dead man was wearing light armor. He seemed, however, to have been dead for a few hours, though. Rigor mortis had taken a firm hold on him, and removing the armor was difficult. Actually donning the armor was far easier.

It was not long after I put the armor on that I began disliking Ralof even further. He must have considered me some sheltered babe.

"Good, now take his axe. Give it a few practice swings. Remember to hold it by the hilt, not the blade."

Schmuck.

I gripped the axe as I had been trained in my Spartan years, and I swung the axe at the air. While the hilt was sturdy, the blade was not. The first swing provided no real surprises. The second time I swung, I noticed an oddly alien rattling, though it didn't surprise me much- keep in mind my arm was still throbbing and two of my ribs were still quite broken. In my mind, which was more or less being ruled by adrenaline, I considered the rattle to be the result of one of my injuries.

Admittedly, even today some of my joints pop when I am doing nothing in particular. Writing this draft was enough to cause it, but I digress.

The point is, I foolishly ignored the echo of doubt within my gut, and took a third practice swing.

The head of the axe actually broke apart mid swing, and I was left with little more than a pointer.

"Okay, that's not ideal," said Ralof. Meanwhile, it was then that we noticed two Imperials. One of them was quite familiar to me, as it was the Captain that doomed me.

They had no words for us. The two Imperials drew weapons and began walking towards us. Meanwhile, I tossed aside the remains of my weapon, and positioned myself correctly.

Memories of mother and her teachings ran through my head, and no longer was I standing off against that Captain in a fort. Suddenly I was in our backyard again, standing before mother.

I was eleven. I held no weapon or shield, while mother held the wooden sword.

"Sometimes, in spite of all the training in the world, you will be caught with no weapon or shield."

She swung the sword about a few times.

"If your attacker holds only a one handed weapon such as this, it will make things easier for you."

Mother held the sword out before me.

"Now, pretend I am a bandit. I make a mockery of you by holding out my weapon as such. What happens if you try to grab the blade?"

I looked at my hands for a moment.

"My hands get cut up."

She nodded.

"Now, I know how stubborn you are, little one. I would not be surprised if you ignored the injuries and kept holding the weapon. Not only will you mutilate your hands, but your attacker would not find it difficult to retrieve the weapon from your grasp."

She pulled the false blade back, and adopted a relaxed stance.

"Your first option is your only option if the one you are fighting carries a two handed blade."

She tossed the small wooden sword aside and pulled a large branch up in its place.

"Weave out of reach, then it is your time to strike."

With that, mother slowly lowered the tip of the branch to the ground, as if she'd just swung in slow motion.

"If this was a real blade, then it wouldn't matter how strong your enemy is. One way or another swinging such a weapon will shift their center of balance. Until they regain it, you own the fight."

Mother took a step forward, as though she'd stumbled.

"This is your chance to close distance and strike. What do you cripple first against such an opponent?"

I eyed mother's form. Though she was barefoot for this exercise (Shadowscales often are in training as it helps build resistance to the elements), I knew that any bandit I may have come across would probably have protective footwear. Breaking a bone in the foot was out of the question.

The shin? Maybe. Most armor that I'd seen was more protective of the front of the shin than the back, and I happen to know of a nerve behind it. Hitting it may be possible, but could also prove quite difficult. Though mother was still, I knew she was just giving me time to examine her stance. A real battle would have been decided by now.

I ultimately opted to make an attempt on her shin. She saw what I wanted to do and pulled the leg back. She smiled at me.

"Nice try, but my center of balance is not so violated that I can't move at all."

I was silent, and she eyed me for a few moments before handing the branch to me.

"Adopt the stance I held, and I will show you."

I grasped the branch tightly, and did as she asked.

"You've just finished your swing. I own the battle now."

She swiftly placed a foot atop the branch, and one of her scaly hands found my dominant. Before I knew what happened, she had my thumb. She'd turned such that one elbow faced my throat- a clever move on her part. Now she had me incapacitated in two different ways.

Mother smiled down at me.

"My elbow speaks for itself, so I will spare you. All it takes to render such a weapon useless, however, is the loss of one thumb."

She gently moved my thumb back. Not so far as to cause any discomfort, but to make an example.

"If you break the thumb, you break the opponent."

I smiled a rare smile at her. She took the branch and tossed it aside, before grabbing ahold of the wooden sword.

"Disarming someone of a one handed weapon is both similar and not."

She swung the wooden blade a few times, then playfully patted me on the head with it.

"When someone has a two handed weapon, it's best to avoid the initial attack, then strike. If someone has a bow, it's better to be close than at a distance. If someone has a blade or axe, what do you do?"

I stared at the wooden blade, and looked at my hands, then back at mother. She did not move.

As quickly as I could I closed the distance between us, and I did my best to mimic the grip she showed me for the two handed weapon. I thought I was correct until mother delivered a quick kick to the back of my knee, and it reflexively buckled. She broke free of my grip, spun about, and the sword kissed my neck.

"Very good, child. Everything was right except your footing."

I looked down at my feet.

"You are better off if you find yourself beside your enemy while you manipulate his or her arm. If you leave yourself open like that directly in front of a bandit, for instance, you will be quite vulnerable."

With that and a few hops, mother put distance between us again.

"This goes without saying, but be sure you wait for your opening before you strike! Now then, retrieve this weapon!"

Our sparring lessons always started slow, and picked up speed as they progressed. The first time I disarmed her, it was in slow motion- she was giving me corrections and commendations as we worked through it.

As time passed, however, we sped up. Eventually I found myself sparring with her at a speed more worthy of combat. Though I didn't always succeed in this training, I was improving.

As I learned the art of disarming blades, mother also taught me how to disarm someone of a blunt weapon, though it was far easier for me to catch on to- pretend the arm has the elasticity of a tentacle, wrap it around the offending arm, manuever it to your advantage and pull the weapon away.

Mother hopped away from me again while we sparred and swung the wooden sword, which I dodged. With no effect, she swung again, and I dodged again.

Then I saw the glint in her eye. I knew what was coming. She pulled the cold blade back and thrust it out towards me in a stab, only for me to pivot. I gave the woman no time to breathe.

Just as mother taught me, I ensured that I was standing beside her when I grappled for the weapon. Success- I had her thumb. She frantically threw a punch at my head with her other hand, but it being on the opposide side of her body, the counter did little good.

With a loud "SNAP!", the thumb broke, and the Captain screeched a bloodcurdling screech. As if in response, the black beast Spoke once more, just outside the keep.

I pulled the blade free of the reeling Captain and returned to my spot before her. How she leered at me then!

With her one remaining uninjured hand, she reached for something in a satchel on her waist, and I just reacted.

She didn't fall limp right away. Instead, her eyes seemed to widen and she put her injured hand on the blade, as if she desired to remove it from her gut. I put one hand on her shoulder and pulled it free. As if on cue, she then fell back, propping herself up by one elbow and clutching at the injury in disbelief.

"Buckaroo."

I turned my head partially to Ralof and instinctively took a step away from the Captain, for fear of retaliation. His quarry was dead while mine was slowly dying.

"Search for a key on that corpse to be."

I saw his gesture to the Captain.

"No!" she gasped. I turned my head to her and saw her still grasping at the wound like a dying insect. In an act of both mercy and caution, I drove the blade through her again, but this time in her heart.

In my defense, I maintain that the first injury I gave her was a mortal wound and she would have died in minutes anyway. All I did was hurry things up.

When her final breath heaved and she grew still- only then did I dare to reach for her satchel.

I felt the cold hilt of a dagger and something inside me relaxed. This was my first real fight, and the first time I ever killed someone with a bladed weapon. I was glad that I had reason to do what I did. She was surely reaching for that very dagger.

She wouldn't have relinquished the key to us and surrendered.

She wouldn't have.

All my thoughts would have to wait. The key was mine, the blade was mine, and escape was still a possibility for us.

With the help of that key we continued down some steps.

If only we knew.

End of Chapter

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 **5,899 words.**

 **So, that happened. This chapter took a very long time to write. It's 1:08 in the morning but I wanted it done. Bad.**

 **If you guys want I'll start answering questions you put in reviews that aren't spoilers. Clarifying stuff and things like that, you know?**

 **Next chapter covers the remainder of the Unbound quest.**


	9. The Sins of an Empire

**Chapter 9**

 **The Sins of an Empire**

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 **"The wicked flee when no man pursueth."**

 **-Proverb 28:1**

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There is a popular saying where I'm from: You have three faces. As such, the Empire has three faces.

As I grew in my new home, mother taught me many things. She taught me to stay away from hallucinogenics, daedra of any kind (even the so-called benevolent ones), Sithis, and she oft expressed her desire to see me take over the family business, so to speak.

Many of her regulars called her "Brews-Much-Sake" because her rice liquor was popular.

She told me of the skeletons people hide from the public eye, and how even if I was a wonderful person and gained much popularity, I would not be without a number of people making claims of my great evil.

My skeletons are many and my hands are bloody. Though I've been called a hero, I'm nothing of the sort.

However many shortcomings I have pale in comparison to those of the Empire.

Opening that locked door broke the proverbial seal.

The Empire's first face is that we know well. It is the one shown to the world. Any citizens employed within know of its second face; the one shown to friends and family.

The third face is the one that nobody should ever see, for it is the truest reflection.

As we descended the stairs the light rapidly dimmed. Water from an unknown source began dripping constantly. The stone stairs had been weathered and abused. Chains hung from certain parts of the walls. The cobwebs were many and the stagnant air was filthy.

It was minutes before we began coming across the first prison cells.

"Gods..."

Though there were many prisoners in these halls, their moans and groans were soft. It was as if they mustered all their energy in a low chorus. The torches had provided such insufficient light that I found it near impossible to see much more than a silhouette in most of the cells.

"Gods..."

When we reached the end I caught a glimpse of one of these people.

I could not tell if that humanoid creature was male or female. Its clothes were so ratty. It had no fat. It was as if someone put tight fitting clothing onto a skeleton. The poor fool's eyes had sunken into the skull, and depressions had formed at the cheek bones.

"Gods..."

I'd only then noticed that it was I uttering that phrase.

"Do not look at them."

I turned my head to look at Ralof.

"Arkay will be calling on them soon," he said. I looked back at the prisoner I could see the best.

"Not soon enough," I said.

How horrid I felt for leaving that hall without granting each of them a mercy. Had I the resources and time I would have.

One might have hoped that by the turn of a corner, things would look far better. In turn, they were worse.

The steps to the prison only led down to a torture chamber. None of the victims this far down were still alive.

This was the face nobody was to see and live to tell about.

It reeked of decay, though none of the bodies seemed to be long dead in this room. The room had torture devices of many types, from the rack to the brazen bull. Wood was gathered beneath the latter but not aflame yet.

There was an explosion, and debris fell from above.

A ball of flame missed me by centimeters and I was back on my guard. How I scowled though. Magic was never my strong point.

There was another explosion and a curse. Ralof's weapon took the blast and was rendered useless.

There were two men in this room other than Ralof and I with beating hearts, and they were both wearing aprons that had once been white. One held forth a staff in his hand, and another fireball started towards me. I managed to dodge it, but the man had sent a third in rapid form and it knocked me to the floor.

If you are unfamiliar with magical flames, I will say now that no water can put them out. Being hit by one such attack is like getting hit by the ball in stick ball heated up a thousand times. Even so, most such attacks are only lethal up to two meters away- they lose energy quickly. As I was across the room, all it managed to do was give me a nasty burn on my abdomen.

As soon as I took another step towards the man responsible I was hit again, this time in my chest. My ribs (whose pain had until then settled down to a dull roar) screamed. It felt like my torso had exploded. As per my brethren, however, I betrayed no outward acknowledgement of the pain.

"Partner, don't worry about the tool with the staff. Get his friend!"

My attention turned to the next target as was requested by Ralof, who had abandoned his weapon and started an approach to the one harassing me.

I considered one high risk strategy for myself. I was at then without a shield and my quarry was holding me at bay with spells- his flames licked a barrel just next to me and I dove away.

Mother did not teach me the charge. My Spartan brethren did.

We were at attention in the ring- just 5 of us. I recall this lesson clearly- it was our lesson not hours before I was attacked by the wolf.

"If you have lost your shield in battle, you deserve to die," thundered the instructor. "For you are then no more than fodder."

Five helots were lined up on the opposite side of the ring with bows and practice arrows. I'd always hated practice arrows. They burrow into your skin, but not deep enough to kill you most times. Just enough so you know you were hit.

Our shields were in the middle of the ring. We had only our wooden swords.

"If you are hit three times, you fall. Otherwise, do your best not to kill the slaves. Charge for your shields, then defeat your enemies."

There was the sound of a gong.

"Begin."

The first volley of arrows flew towards us. One of the boys was hit twice- once in the head, and once in the throat. He fell to the floor in a heap unmoving, and I heard one instructor call for two more helots to remove the body. The instructors were eating cheese.

And I felt a nip, followed by an explosive pain in my foot, but I showed no reaction. I kept running even after one of the arrows caught my ankle, though my running speed dropped significantly.

"Mia Tuk, twice more and you are out."

I threw a hand up in acknowledgement and dove for the shield. Next to me, my older brother Abbas fell to the third arrow. He lay motionless as he was ordered to do, but his injuries were not serious.

I and two others made it to the shields in time. We brought them up to deflect the next volley of arrows.

We were successful, and we resumed our charge. Again I was hit while I limped. One other student was uninjured as of yet and the other got hit a third and final time. He was out.

Us remaining two closed the remaining distance between the slaves and tackled one of each, which brings me to my current predicament.

I'd closed the distance between the mage and I, though not without sustaining heavy injury. I threw him into the side of the brazen bull, held one arm behind his back and I slammed his head into the side of the bull until he stopped struggling. Adrenaline is a wonderful thing.

He wasn't dead yet. Just dazed, but I had no mercy to spare for him. I opened the door on the side of the bull and forced him in before locking it. Ralof, who until then had been pounding away at what used to be his target's face, tossed me the staff the man was using.

A staff is, to those who may not know, the amateur wizard's handicap. All you need to do in order to use it is aim and squeeze. That is exacly what I did- to the tinder beneath the brazen bull.

As soon as we were sure each of our enemies were incapacitated, I fell to my rear. Ralof was at my side in a moment with a vial of red liquid. I knew what it was. It's called rougiine- essentially a life tonic. Tabrodite used to use them on me when I got ill with stomach bugs or got hurt. They don't magically fix all injuries, but they do grant you a small boost of energy and they do a good job of disinfecting wounds. It is useless for illnesses other than the treatment of symptoms.

I was made to remove my armor and splash the only life tonic amongst us upon my wounds. The remainder I drank. I had to suppress a gag. Most such potions and tonics are absolutely dreadful. The green tonics actually taste like blue. Think about that.

"Take a few moments rest, pal. I will look around for anything of interest."

I didn't waste my energy to agree. Inside the brazen bull, I heard the panicked cries of my quarry. Smoke began to billow out of the bronze beast's nostrils. The bellows disturbed me. Part of me wanted to let the man out, but another part reveled in the chaotic bellows.

"The cages."

Two simple words from Ralof granted me my reprieve. He stood before three cages, in which two recently deceased and one long dead prisoner remained.

"I spy septims. We will need them when we get out of here. Let-"

I didn't let him say anything else. I wanted desperately to get away from the bull, and so I scrambled towards one of the cages and examined the lock for a few minutes.

Lockpicking was quite simple to me, for I'd spent my early years learning the art while I would try to steal food. It was one skill mother did not need to teach me. Not that she would have.

However, it did not matter how much confidence I had in my manipulation of the lock. I couldn't do much if I didn't have a means to influence the tumblers.

I cringed. We needed the septims and I could swear I saw a vial poking out of one of the corpse's pockets. There was a table not far from the bull and there was the chance that I could find a lockpick on it. I steeled myself and prepared to turn to the bull again.

And then I heard the whining of metal. I looked to Ralof slowly, with disbelief, and I saw it.

I was intent on relying on my skills to jimmy the locks. Ralof either didn't think I knew how to or didn't have the patience to wait, so he just sort of bent the bars that were in the way and grabbed anything he could.

He tossed me the coinpurse from one cell, but I was too frozen to react. It clattered to the ground before me.

It was reinforced steel. The Legion accepts no substitute. I have no idea how he did that.

"You can have that purse. I borrowed some from that nice Imperial I was talking with."

How my wounds ached. I made no utterance about them in the moment but my body screamed at me. I picked up the coin purse and put the armor back on.

I still had feeling throughout my body, and in this I suppose I was lucky. It meant I wasn't losing very much blood, though my torso was in extreme pain. I just wanted to get clear of danger and receive proper medical attention. Though I now know a basic healing spell, I did not at then. Even so, any mage that knows the trade will tell you that only the strongest of healing spells cause complete recovery. The one I know does not heal beyond a fracture.

We continued on through the catacombs. The man within the bull was still bellowing. I was amazed.

All around us was evidence of horrendous torture, even water torture, though by the time I took note of that, I began to question just how much of these devices were those of the Legion. Water torture is the calling card of the Thalmor.

There were many dead. Surprisingly, however, no Legionaries. At least, not until the catacombs opened up to another room, which appeared to have been some kind of living quarters.

There was a large fight being waged between the escaped rebels and Imperial defenders. Few of either were engaged in close quarters. The arrows sent flying were sufficient to blot out the sun, had we been outdoors. My story may well have ended had Ralof and I not been protected by the walls. Thank the Gods for small miracles, I suppose.

At this point I still had no shield, and I saw none around us. There were plenty of arrows and a few bows left, though. How I love the bow. Mother trained me with many weapons, but I absolutely loved learning to use the bow. It was far easier to challenge myself with than any other weapon I've used.

Needless to say, I quickly grabbed a bow and thirty arrows. I also took with me a small dagger, should I need it.

Like mother, like son.

Tabrodite's favorite bow, as I've mentioned, was as black as night. She had an excellent eye. The targets she could not make were few.

She started training me in archery at age ten. I recall her holding out a practice bow to me.

"Mia Tuk, there are few weapons as effective against magic wielders as the bow. There is no shortage of mages in Cyrodiil, dear."

Mother twirled the bow effortlessly around a finger. Funny, it was not strung yet.

"Depending on the distance to your quarry and angle of your shot, the arrow will follow a certain path. At greater distances and angles, it will move on a parabolic arc."

Mother held out the bow, and I took it uneasily. She gestered to one of the ends.

"The bow tip. Look closely at it, Mia Tuk."

I recall eyeing it as requested. I even squinted for good measure, and I was able to see the grooves.

"That is where we will string the bow. That's the string nock."

She continued down the bow.

"Brace, grip, recurve..."

Then, she held out an arrow. A practice arrow, of course.

"Arrow head, spine, shaft, fletching, and the nock."

She smiled at me.

"It's easiest to use the bow with three fingers. Mind your hands, too. The fletching will prove more than enough to slice them up. Believe me. I speak from experience."

She strung the recurve, then set it to the ground.

"Hold down the recurve with your foot, sweetheart."

I did as was asked, and she strung the remainder of the bow with such speed and skill that I could scarcely comprehend it.

Then playfully, as was her wont, she plucked at the string as if it were an instrument.

"Mia Tuk, do you recall those fantastical stories I used to tell you before bed? The ones of the good bandit that robbed from the rich and gave to the poor?"

I nodded. It was my favorite story as a child, that of Robin Hood.

"Do you recall how he was able to loose an arrow, nock another, then loose it to cut the first down the middle?"

Again I nodded. It was no small feat. Mother sighed.

"Sadly, it's not a true story. If you split an arrow, it won't go all the way through. That doesn't mean it's impossible to hit one, of course. May I see the bow, child?"

I held forth the bow for her, and she took up a combat ready stance. Upon readying an arrow with three fingers, she eyed me once more.

"If you ever find yourself speaking at an archer's convention, be sure you do not refer to this particular moment as 'loading up an arrow.' You will be embarassed. This is not a catapult; you do not load your bow."

She pulled the arrow back on the string.

"No, instead we call this, 'nocking the arrow.'"

With that, she loosed it, and she caught our makeshift dummy center mass. Then, she lowered the bow.

"It can take quite a few arrows to down your target if you do not hit them in the right spots. This," she gestured to the dummy, "is a mortal wound."

She then approached the dummy and pulled the arrow from its torso.

"Now, replicate it if you can."

She handed me the bow and one arrow.

"If you can land the first shot against your opponent you have a much better chance of coming out victorious."

I recall drawing back the bow, nocking the arrow, and loosing it, but I cannot seem to recall where exactly I hit, or if I'd hit at all. I think I did- blind luck, mostly. Most of my training for that day was on the bow.

I was absolutely horrendous with the bow when I was younger. Half the time the arrow wouldn't fly, and the other half I was rarely hitting where I was aiming.

We came back to this training often. Mother told me in the beginning that it was to encourage my fingers to become calloused; my first weeks using the bow left my fingers raw and bleeding, but how I so loved it.

It was with great pride that Mother watched my failed shots diminish and my accuracy grow. When I was still grasping the basics, I was made to aim for a pumpkin that we balanced upon the dummy's head. As I improved, the pumpkin gave way to a melon, then apple, and a lemon.

If you'll pardon my boasting, I daresay I could make a cherry from 20 meters by the time I turned 15.

I'd at then, however, never been forced to do battle with another archer before. As my mentor would say, it was a lot like a game of chess. If you could predict your opponent's move or otherwise create an ambush, your odds of victory are far higher.

As for avoiding arrows, I learned that in part from mother and Spartan brethren.

Mother recommended using cover as available to shield myself from my enemy. We Spartans shield ourselves from such attacks with our large shields. They are heavy, but strong enough to stand up to a volley of arrows like nothing. Tragically, I did not have such a shield at then in my escape. I began taking cover behind crates, tables, barrels- anything that would shield me from my enemies. Some arrows would pass harmlessly high above me. Others would hit my cover- I could feel the impact through it. Others still would land behind cover just centimeters from me. It felt as though I were being protected by the Divines.

When I ran low on arrows, I would use those fired at me against my enemies. Though the ranged fight was but a few minutes long, many arrows were loosed and many men were wounded. By my count, my arrows incapacitated six of the instigators. Three others received mortal wounds, just as Mother taught me. As the path grew safer, we pressed on further into the unknown.

I observed in mild interest as the building we were in gave way to a large cavern. Ralof pointed straight ahead, however, and it was then that I noticed the black bear. Unfortunately for us, we were noticed as well.

The bear didn't attack at then, though it stood on its hind legs and gave us a warning growl.

Neither Ralof or I wanted a fight with the creature, and it looked as though it did not want a fight with us either. We were locked in a stale mate. If Ralof or I stepped forward, it would attack. Conversely, if it stepped forward, we would do the same.

My years of hunting with Mother taught me how to deal with bears, though. They are very territorial, like the wolves of Cyrodil. Depending on the type of bear, we had a few options regarding what to do to protect ourselves.

Well, to protect me. Ralof would probably punch the sow hard enough that it would see Jesus. Do you have any idea how hard you have to be punched to see somebody else's God?

I had a healthy respect for the Bears of Tamriel, and still do. The spirit bear, for instance, poses no threat when not provoked by a human. They oft act as guardians to lost souls, protecting them from danger. Some people believe they are manifested spirits sent by the Aedra to protect certain people.

Black bears have no such reservation. If you surprise one, it's probably not going to react positively. Especially if the bear is defending a cub.

We were fortunate, I suppose, that it was a single bear, and we gave it a wide berth as we passed. So long as we did that, the bear did not attack.

Needless to say, Ralof and I were pleased when the caverns opened up to the woods. Trees kissed the midday sky and a cool breeze met my face. Droplets of water fell from one tree onto my cheek, and I only then realized how thirsty I was. My throat was aflame, as if I could spit fire myself. Though we had been travelling in our escape for hours, Helgen was but a stone's throw behind us. I could still see the smoke billowing overhead.

As if it were waiting for us, the black beast flew right above us. If I recall correctly, it was heading northeast, and if it was really a dragon, I could only assume it was off to do dragon things.

Gods, but I was thirsty.

End of Chapter

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 **3,766 words.**

 **And there's Unbound. Next up, Mia Tuk goes to Riverwood, where he meets Mike Rowe and helps him on the latest episode of _Icky Jobs._**

 **On a serious note, what is the name of the lady that Ralof tells you to speak to. Gerdur? Girdir? Grrdurr? Todd? The guy's Advar, right?**

 **I have to check. I can't remember. I mean, Mia Tuk can't remember.**

 **Okay, I think I'm done.**


	10. The Prodigal Son Returns (To Riverwood)

****Nota Bene - This chapter is dedicated to the memory of the victims of Brussels. God be with you in this trying time, and our thoughts overseas are with you, as well.**

* * *

 **Chapter 10**

 **The Prodigal Son Returns (To Riverwood)**

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 **"The most absurd and reckless aspirations have sometimes led to extraordinary success."**

 **-Luc de Clapiers**

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Ralof and I both took a few moments to catch our breaths before we continued on. We'd escaped not a moment too soon- the cave's rumbling was becoming more frequent and I feared collapse. Ralof had his hands on his hips and looked into the cave again.

"That was fun, but we should probably get out of here. It won't be long until this whole area is swarming with Imperials. Again."

Ralof had then continued on his merry way. I meanwhile desired nothing more than to quench my great thirst. My body's wounds ached fiercely, but I felt my energy beginning to fade. The boost I received from the tonic was tapering off. I wanted to get to Whiterun. Badly.

Still, I was wounded and disoriented. And thirsty. Very thirsty. I had no idea where I was, and there was no way I was going back to Helgen. I opted to follow Ralof to wherever he was going. He seemed to know exactly what direction to head in to find civilization.

The man himself did not say much to me while he walked. Though I was badly wounded, I did my best to keep my hands off my injuries and my face from betraying pain.

The thing I aspired to be in Sparta was a soldier- specifically, a Hoplite. They were the most elite of our soldiers, and how I idolized them back home! My father was a Hoplite, my oldest brother was a Hoplite, and I desired to be one too.

Like a true Hoplite, I showed no pain as we walked, though my vision began to swim and my breathing was somewhat labored. I refused to lean on Ralof for support. This march was my battle.

I don't recall all details of my walk with Ralof after we escaped Helgen. I repeatedly wondered just how many of these recent events were real. Did I really just escape because a dragon, or something of the sort interrupted my execution? The executioner had the axe held aloft, and the dragon interrupted at the opportune moment. A second later and I would have been dead.

I recall my footfalls slowing to a stop, and uncertainty bubbled within me. I frantically looked around for constellations I may see in the day, or other fantastical clues that I had gone the way of Peyton.

"I'm not stopping for you. You can either keep walking with me or I leave you to the wolves," said Ralof, who, true to his words, had kept walking. I suppose I had made a useful ally, but that did not mean we were friends.

That was fine by me. Better to not make connections in this land. I was fortunate to not have had someone to court in Cheydinhal, much less many friends that I would be leaving behind. Besides, I disliked the man from the start, though I made sure to keep quiet. I doubt I would have survived the catacombs without him. His knowledge of the tunnels made me wonder if he'd once been in the Legion, or if he were perhaps a traitor sent by them to the rebels. Sure, I saw him kill many Imperials, but maybe it was in the confusion of the attack?

I was probably wrong, but I had something to think about for some more of the walk other than my wounds, great thirst, and bloody existence.

Ralof pointed out a group of stones before us.

"Look. Each of those stones is blessed in some way and there are thirteen in Skyrim. If you ask nicely, they may offer a blessing. If you catch one on the wrong day, however, your luck may turn terrible. I stay away from them at all times."

I suppose I ought to give him credit, as his reasoning was good. According to legend, the stones were each a spirit sent to Nirn as guardians. For decades they blessed travelers with safe passage. All one had to do to invoke the good fortune was pray before a stone.

Unbeknownst to the passersby, the guardian stones became corrupted by a priest of Molag Bal. Every prayer for safety was granted, but twisted. They strengthened Molag Bal and emboldened him in his quest to destroy our world.

Akatosh, having become aware of the plot, plead with his mortal races to pass the stones and ignore them. They soon fell into disrepair and Molag Bal's plan- whatever it had been, stalled.

The spirits, driven mad and bitter by the supposed betrayal of their former master Akatosh, were only hurt when He sent a cleansing rain to Skyrim, and it poured for a fortnight. The stones had been totally cleansed of Molag Bal's defilement, though the spirits remained bitter. Today, should one pray before a stone, legend states that if you are to pray to it shortly before, during, or after a storm, your luck will turn terrible, for you would have invoked the wrath of the spirits of the standing stones.

I personally consider the story a load of rubbish, though I don't deny that the stones seem to carry a bad omen. I do take pains to avoid them in my travels.

"Talos be praised. Riverwood!"

I was again jarred from my thoughts. Funny, until my journey in Skyrim I would never have considered myself one to get lost in thought so easily. I eyed the small town with Ralof, and, like the enormous child he was, he sprinted for the gates. I walked at my top speed only because I heard running water and was dreadfully desperate for a drink.

I suppose I should tell you a bit about the town, and I will, but not now. In the interest of telling the story as I recall it, I will inform you of what I noted about the town as I noted it. By the time I'd reached it from my execution attempt, I was exhausted, dehydrated, wounded, weakened, hungry, and by Apollo, _THIRSTY._ The only thing I'd at then noted about the town was there was a gate, people, and a waterwheel.

The first thing I wandered towards was the waterwheel, which meant a well was nearby. I was not disappointed, either. I found one, and next to it I found Ralof drinking madly, too. How I wished I could knock him aside and nourish myself.

Instead, I waited for him to finish, and when he stepped aside, I nearly collapsed in relief. He held out the bucket he'd been drinking from to me. It was empty and he'd removed it from the rope to have ease of access, but I know how to tie knots.

"By the nine. Ralof? Is that you?"

Before I could even grip the bucket, he'd turned to the source of the voice. I growled lowly.

"I'd recognize that voice anywhere. Gerdur, how are you?"

I only glanced at the woman that engaged the conversation. I wanted that bucket more than Alduin wanted world domination, and so I lunged for it, and Ralof had taken a step towards her. I gripped nothing but air.

I am not making any of this up.

"It is so good to see you again! How is Ulfric? How are you?"

"Gerdur..."

"We were growing worried about you, you know. It's been ages since you last sent for us."

"Gerdur..."

"Hod desires another bare knuckles match, dear. He fears he's getting rusty! Will you take part? You sockdologizing oaf, you... of course you will!"

"Gerdur!"

Until now, I'd been quietly sneaking up on Ralof, balancing upon my feet exactly as mother taught me. When I got within opportune distance, I went for it.

And of course, it was then that he tossed the bucket over his shoulder and consequently, over my head.

Ralof embraced Gerdur and whispered something to her. I did not hear anything but the thump of my body with the frozen dirt. My ribs were not pleased. I was laying on my stomach with barely the strength to lift a finger. I'd only wanted water.

"Gerdur, you know I wouldn't do this without a good reason, but do you think my friend and I can stay at your house for a bit?"

"Friend? What friend? What for?"

Ralof had pointed with one thumb over his shoulder at me, and I suppose I could have been a more becoming target, as Gerdur's first glance of me was upon my rear with a bucket in my lap, working with numb fingers on knotting a rope so I could have a drink.

Still, she smiled mournfully at me, and stepped towards me.

"Hi, I'm Gerdur. So sorry about all that, I did not see you!"

I said nothing. She held her hands out for the bucket and I would have growled if my throat had an ounce of liquid in it.

"There's no need to drink from the well."

I beg to differ.

Before I could protest, she took the bucket from me and held out a small bladder of water. I suddenly loved this woman.

I do not mean to sound cynical. I actually did like Gerdur a lot at that point. She was the kindest person I'd met in Riverwood, though I stopped liking her so much once I found out why she was so nice to me. She thought I was special.

I probably looked it in hindsight. I'd poured the water from the bladder into my mouth and ended up spilling all over myself.

Gerdur actually chuckled and helped me to stand, then turned to Ralof.

"He's adorable."

I was numb. Never had I been called adorable. Handsome, yes. Adorable? Did I look like a woman?

Still, she'd offered me water and so I did not show my offense. Under most cases, however, that's one of the two things that I can not stand- being called adorable. I'm a Spartan. I'm a warrior. I kill and I maime and I bite my injuries back. I'm not adorable.

The other thing I can't stand is being laughed at. It shames me to say it, but I've caused more than a few scenes due to it. Some even ended without bloodshed.

Krosis. I digress.

"What's his name, Ralof?" she asked. I recall raising my brow at him, and he was silent. I could actually see his throat quivering as he tried to come up with an idea, and quick.

He cleared his throat, and steeled himself to respond. I willed him on with my eyes and Gerdur waited expectantly.

He threw a finger in my direction. Isn't it rude to point?

"Buckaroo! You heard the lady. Tell her your name!"

"Huh? But I was asking you, Ralof..."

He cleared his throat again. "Yes, and I think it would be more appropriate for such a fine sword to introduce himself."

An impeccable save. Gerdur accepted his explanation and turned to me.

"I am Mia Tuk," I uttered lowly. Still, I was forced a step back at Ralof's bellow of, "Aah!" I saw him nod as in understanding.

Gerdur took my hand and shook it forcefully.

"Well met, Mia Tuk. But you look like the walking dead! What in Oblivion happened to you?"

She eyed Ralof for a few moments.

"Come to think of it, what happened to _you_ , Ralof?"

"Hopscotch accident. Come, Gerdur. Would you mind extending hospitality for just a bit?"

She didn't say anything at first. It seemed as if she was sizing us up. Well, me. Ralof is very large.

My wounds were throbbing and my head was beginning to get dizzy. I would to my utmost keep myself from showing injury, but I'm not so stupid as to ignore my wounds. I aimed to get them treated as soon as I got to Whiterun.

My thirst sated, now all that really remained was hunger. Gerdur never vocally expressed her answer. She just started walking and we followed. Though the walk was no more than up the road, it felt like we'd been walking endlessly.

Her cottage was fair, I suppose. Larger than ours had been and it was minus the water wheel...

Gods, but the inside of the cottage was awe-inspiring. The lack of attention to cleanliness appalled me. Warrior though I liken myself, I am not a pig.

Apparently Gerdur was not, either, because she sighed heavily when she laid eyes upon the disaster area and uttered, "Lod..."

Her furniture was impressive, though, specifically her chairs, but to the weary traveller, so is any seat.

Once I'd been seated in a comfortable chair, I felt as though my legs were useless. I knew I'd been injured, but I underestimated just how tired the rest of my body was.

Ralof sat beside me.

"Now, what's going on, Ralof? You look absolutely horrible."

I was quiet while Ralof filled her in on the details of the morning. Memories of the scores of dead in that town were still fresh in my mind. I recalled Hadvar's quick death, and the unknown soldier who was killed not a meter ahead of me. Though there were many Imperials killed in the chaos and dozens of elves, I still had to fight to suppress a shiver.

How many people would be declared dead in abstentia? How many families would be left wondering, praying to the Gods for their loved ones to return to them by the slim hope that they were not among the deceased? What if mother had been among them? What if _I_ had been?

I do know that there are plans now to turn the grounds of Helgen into a Tomb of Unknowns. The remains of all found after the attack will be exhumed and interred there until they are identified. Anyone killed and rendered unknown in a dragon attack is to be held there, too. I consider it an honorable idea. Even the remaining dragons do not attack it- they don't even fly over it.

For creatures of death and domination, they show surprising respect for the dead. I'll be getting further into the dragons and their culture a bit later, though.

Actually, a lot later. It's a really long story.

I recall nodding off while Ralof spoke, but not for long. I desperately wanted to get on the road to Whiterun as soon as I dismissed myself here- I felt I owed my presence to Ralof now. Though I disliked the man, I had to admit that he helped me as much as I helped him, and the least I could do now was corroborate his tale.

Gerdur did not buy the tale at first. At least, not until her husband came home- Lod, the pig.

Though I did not know the man and admittedly still do not know him much, he was as pale as a wisp. Apparently he'd been on the road too and caught the retreat of the black beast. So, when he was brought up to speed, it was three who saw, and knew, against one who wished to be blind.

"I was unable to believe my eyes, Gerdur. It could be none other. It was the infamous."

"Lod, you don't mean-"

He stared at Gerdur. None other.

"It was Alduin, the Bane of Kings."

"No."

For a moment I thought Gerdur was still in denial, but then I saw the look on her face.

"He would not stop at Kings."

Gerdur suddenly looked like an old woman.

"If you three are telling the truth, and now I hesitate to dismiss your claims, then we're in big trouble."

There was a pregnant pause, and I felt eyes land on me.

"I hate to ask this of you, Mia Tuk."

By all the Gods, ask. Ask.

"You see, we are defenseless if a dragon attacks us here, yet we are part of Whiterun's hold. Having said that, the Jarl must see to our protection. Will you go to Whiterun for us and meet the Jarl? Inform him of our plight. If he is worth his salt, he will at the very least send us reinforcements. Please, Mia Tuk!"

I was raised by mother to be kind to others as I would have them be to me. This would normally be the part where I agree without hesitating, perhaps even with a smile on my face.

But I'm me, and as anyone who knows me would tell you, I have this nasty habit of not caring much about people I don't know.

Still, I was going to be heading to Whiterun regardless, and so I nodded wordlessly after a long sigh, and I stood up.

Immediately, she protested.

"You're grossly injured! Sit down this instant, it's okay!"

I desperately wanted to get to Whiterun and meet with mother again, though. I did my best to ignore my body's protest, but the floor was swaying and my knees buckled.

It wasn't exactly sitting, but it would do quite nicely.

Consciousness finally left me.

 **End of Chapter**

* * *

 **2,942 words.**

 **If you know anyone in Brussels or knew anyone there, I am very sorry. Those lost will not be forgotten.**

 **I actually spent the longest time trying to come up with a legend to go with the standing stones, but I was drawing a blank. Eventually I gave up and just sort of threw something lame together.**

 **Sockdologizing is a term made famous by the play,** _ **Our American Cousin.**_ **It was among the lines that Lincoln was reportedly laughing on when he was shot by John Wilkes Booth on April 14, 1865.**

 **The full quote is, "** **Don't know the manners of good society, eh? Well, I guess I know enough to turn you inside out, old gal — you sockdologizing old man-trap!" Booth apparently timed his attack with the line, using the loud laughter of the crowd to mask the gunshot and assist his escape.**

 **Okay, history lesson's over. Next chapter covers Mia Tuk in Whiterun.**


	11. Jobs That Bite

**Chapter 11**

 **Jobs That Bite**

* * *

 **"A prince never lacks legitimate reasons to break his promise."**

 **-Niccolo Machiavelli**

* * *

To my great distress I was bed ridden for three days. I ought to have been stuck in the pig sty for a week, but my desire to leave for Whiterun far outweighed my need for rest.

Also I am stronger than Gerdur, and so there was no keeping me in the bed once I'd recovered a bit.

My injuries were still serious, however. I knew I needed to see a healer, and so I told myself to check the temple in Whiterun. I'd heard rumors in Cheydinhal of the talented priests and priestesses there. They can call upon the divines themselves for the restoration of a human being, though the actual healing takes time, and the divines may actually reject the plea if the person asking annoys them.

So, needless to say, I made sure to be on my best behavior during my trip.

I still had lingering fear, however. Where did I stand on my sentence? Was there a kill/capture order on my head? A bounty? I sided with Ralof, a rebel. Had I managed to make my escape with a high ranking Imperial, perhaps I could have been afforded a pardon.

My torso throbbed. Neither Ralof, Gerdur, or Lod knew any restorative spells, which meant I had to recover by conventional means unless I could make it to Whiterun, which brings me to my current predicament.

I'd been armed by Ralof's family with a quiver of forty steel headed arrows, which allowed me to toss the crusty old iron ones. They were far too brittle, likely having been abused long before my attempted execution. The steel arrows were another story.

In addition, I was offered a wooden shield and iron sword. I was scoffed at by a few townsfolk on the way out of Riverwood. I'd drawn a small, life sized fly upon the front of my shield with white paint. It is tradition amongst my kind to draw a fearsome animal upon our shields. I followed the example of one soldier in particular. The fly would be the size of a lion when the shield was smashed in the face of a foe. I have done so to all my shields.

Now, about a kilometer away from Riverwood (Whiterun was but another kilometer or two away), I found myself stopped by wolves on the path. I felt a growl escape my throat in frustration, and I put a hand to the scar on my throat once more. In many ways, it was this vile beast that brought me to this strange land to begin with. I ought to kill the adults and sterilize the pups. Indeed, these were my intentions when I nocked the arrow.

I paused, however. My arrow was at the ready and my target was the left eye of a male- I assumed it was the alpha, but later learned more of the animal and I know now I was wrong.

The beasts (there were six of them) were at play. They were not stalking passersby such as myself. They were not making much noise. They were simply wrestling.

With my hearing at the time, I was able to barely catch the mewling of a pup as it carried on the air.

The male I was aiming at spotted me as well, but it didn't attack me, nor did the others. Instead, one by one they eyed me, and we were at an impasse. Slowly, the few at play stopped to eye the odd human intruding upon them.

I should also mention that I saw no malevolence in their eyes, though I did not maintain eye contact with any of them for long, lest it be considered a challenge. I knew I would not last long should all six attack me at once.

Instead of loosing my arrow, I found myself slowly stepping to the side. The wolves began to mimic my movements, but to the opposite direction.

I could hear a low growl from the largest wolf; a warning to stay away from the pups that I could hear so clearly.

We mirrored each other. I continued walking in my semicircle, and they theirs. Neither I nor the wolves turned away. I never lowered my bow and my arrow was always at the ready.

These wolves, unlike the one that sent me to my death, were not sick. At least, not that I could tell. When I had reached the path again, I slowly began walking backwards down it. The wolves stopped moving, but did not stop eyeing me.

I did not retire my arrow to its quiver until I felt I was far enough away to not warrant a threat. It took a while.

I recall begrudgingly admitting that wolves, though I had a hatred for them over my fate, were just animals, and the one that bit me only did so because it was sick. Wolves only attack man when hunger has it mad or it is ill.

So instead of heaving the lofty furs upon my back, I did so a sigh. There would be no game for me. At least, not wolves.

When I broke the trees, I could see a huge structure in the distance. It was a city. It was Whiterun.

Being raised in Cheydinhal and not the rural mountains, however, meant I was not instilled with awe at the sight of the city.

I was surprised at the sight of my first giant, however.

They are as their names imply: quite large. You can probably spot one from up to 300 meters. They, or at least, the ones I have encountered, have their own language. As for the first one I ever encountered, I saw that it was in the midst of battle on a farm, so I opted to try and assist its victims. Perhaps one of them would know a way to promote my recovery?

I wouldn't find out at then. The giant fell to the dirt before I'd covered a hundred meters. I slowed to a walk, and began investigating the scene when I came upon it.

"Well, I'm glad that's done with. No thanks to you."

It was a woman, and she was what I would consider scarcely dressed. A veritable flapper. She donned war paint upon her face, and her hair was a fearsome red. She carried a bow that I then and still do today envy. Along with her I recall seeing three others, only one of which was another female. She glared daggers at me and brandished a well maintained axe with twenty tallies adorning the hilt. Finally, two large men stood by them, and they even put Ralof to the test. They looked almost identical to each other, and for a moment I feared I was seeing double. Everything seemed the same about them- even their war scars were similar.

The men were seemingly indifferent to me. One carried a warhammer and the other a blade and shield, but no drawings adorned the shield. I looked to their quarry, then scowled at the flapper.

"Stupid woman, I was nearly a third of a kilometer's distance and am wounded."

She would have none of it, though, and gestured to my bow, which I suppose I should mention here:

I was still carrying the bow I found in the catacombs at Helgen, and though I was grateful to it for helping keep me alive, I still hated it. Each time I tried to nock an arrow, I feared the thing coming apart.

"A true archer knows when to retire a weapon, and a true hunter can make it effective regardless."

My scowl did not vanish, but she turned to face Whiterun.

"Still, you carry the look of one who can grow. Perhaps I will take you under my wing? If you're interested in making yourself into a man of honor and glory, find us at Jorrvaskr."

I scoffed as she and her charges passed. Take me under her wing? Imbecile. I waited a moment in the spot, though and decided to check the body of the giant. I was in need of gold and was hopeful there was something left. I gave the corpse a good kick and listened for the jingle of gold in a pocket, and when I thought I heard something, I began the pat down.

I admit that it's disrespectful to go through the pockets of the deceased, but I maintain that the creature was a threat before it died. Had I been killed by it, would it show my body respect?

I gave a shiver and I felt the pockets. Odds are high it would have dismembered me if given the chance. Then again, this was not my quarry.

As if to punish me, the pockets were empty. When I attempted to find just what made the jingle, I felt the smooth texture of several wishbones. The creature must have kept them for good luck. I scowled, and continued towards the town.

My mood was not lightened as I approached the gates. A guard stopped me.

"Halt. City is closed with the dragons about. State your business in Whiterun."

"Riverwood requests aid," was all I said initially. The guard eyed me.

"You're going to have to do better than that. Who sent you?"

"The dragons did. Riverwood is woefully shorthanded. If you don't let me speak to the Jarl, I fear what may become of Riverwood."

I didn't actually fear what may become of Riverwood, but I had no patience for this guard. I wanted to see a priestess so I could stop needing to apply aloe vera gel to my burns. I can't stand the stuff.

He stared at me, as if trying to see through what he assumed were lies. Eventually he sighed through his nostrils and unlocked the gates for me. Before I could pass, he poked a finger into my chest. I felt my burns cry out in protest.

"If I catch you so much as looking at anyone sideways, you will answer to me."

"If," was all I said. Without waiting to hear more from the man, I walked into town.

It was as the gates closed that I kicked myself. I could have asked the man to point me in the direction of my mother, assuming she made it already, which would have been surprising. I wasn't about to swallow my pride and ask that same guard though, considering the look he gave me as I passed him.

I suppose I owe it to you, the reader, to describe Whiterun and Riverwood at last. Having said that, I will start with Riverwood.

It was a puny town. Everyone living there seemed to know each other. Many of the town guards wore helmets that hid all but their eyes from the people. Even so, people like Lod and Gerdur were capable of recognizing them through the helmets.

Few people owned horses or carriages and the houses were almost exclusively cottages. Even so, they were slightly larger and better kept than Mother's home was. There were only dirt roads in the town and there was even a small inn for the weary traveller.

Whiterun was likely a reason that Riverwood was such a small town. It was huge by comparison; the second largest town in Skyrim if I'm not mistaken. It has houses ranging from small cottages to nigh mansions. An enormous palace stood overlooking what could have been Skyrim itself, and a large cherry blossom marked town square. Unlike Riverwood, the people in Whiterun were many, and the roads were paved.

Unfortunately for me, however, few people wanted to stop to chat with the traveller. It was difficult to get directions to the temple, and by the time I found someone willing to help me, all she had to do was point over my shoulder with a chuckle.

I uttered a low thank you, and opened the doors to the temple.

I was near blasted backwards by the smell of roses, as was typical of many temples. Candles were burning and light made many colors poured through the stained glass windows. In each compass direction, there were a few alters to pray at, and at the center was a pillar, but no statue. I assumed it was the original location of Talos' statue of worship.

There was a low chorus of moaning echoing through the temple. I saw men with many grievous wounds writhing upon healing alters. Each was attended to by a priestess, and when I presented my wounds, I was offered a place to lay as well by my own priestess.

I doubt saying this is wise, but my priestess' garb left little to the imagination. Her name was Rao, and she was apparently quite popular among the wounded. I am still told by many that I was fortunate to have her tend to my wounds.

Even so, I took great pains to keep from eyeing her like a child candy. The last thing I needed was to burst into flame in the middle of a house of worship.

I recall her flashing a smile at me.

"You're very lucky. Had any of these blasts caught you between the beat of your heart, you could have died."

All I recall saying back was, "Could have."

She didn't press further, but instead asked me which of the Divines I found myself the most devoted to, and the answer was and is Akatosh.

As Zeus is the King of Gods upon Olympus Mons, Akatosh is the Chief God, and the father of the dragons. Though he is benevolant and more than a little patient, I felt I had to set he and Zeus before any others, and since Zeus had no presence in this land, I uttered lowly, "Akatosh."

"Ah, _Bormahu._ A fine choice. I sense his love for you."

With those words, Priestess Rao bent forward to reach under the healing alter for something. I found my eyes but glued to her.

Ahh, the wonders of nature! A deep valley between two lofty peaks!

I snapped my eyes back up to the ceiling as quickly as I could. How I hoped none above saw me eyeing her. Or any others in the area, though I daresay the other wounded men were eyeing me enviously- specifically one who was being treated by a large, muscular Orc man.

I was interrupted by Rao as she held before me what looked like a large white scale- a blessed amulet of Akatosh. With her other hand, she called upon blessed and potent magic. I felt my body lifted off the alter and for a few precious moments it felt as though I could taste sound.

It was euphoria, and a kind I'd not at then experienced. Of course, I know now it's a side effect of certain healing spells. The busty woman I had healing my wounds was helping, though.

All too soon, however, it ended, and I found myself upon the healing alter once more. I must have come in at a fortunate time, because a line was rapidly forming of people who looked injured, and a few who seemed to be feigning it. Rao helped me stand once more, and gripped both my shoulders with a chuckle. I was off balance. It is surprisingly difficult to find your feet after levitating, or at least, feeling like you were.

"That's you all done. You look much better now."

I must have looked myself over in front of her, which can be considered rude. She took it in stride though and smiled.

"I do hope you feel great. Kelly is far better with the wounded than I."

She gestured over to the large Orc man busying himself with another wounded man. I later learned he prefered to be called Kel. I swear he knew I was looking at him, because he rolled his neck while cracking his knuckles and the sound echoed through the temple.

It was then that I remembered courtesy, and began reaching for the coin purse I procured in Helgen. I was far from rich, and though I can not recall exactly how many coins I had on me, I remember thinking there was not much seperating me from the homeless.

Rao interrupted to my great relief.

"Not necessary. We do not charge during wartime."

My eyes found hers, and she smiled reassuringly at me again. "Do take better care of yourself in the future, okay?"

I nodded, but then shook my head.

"No promises."

I left. Didn't even wait for a response. I couldn't be around her much longer. At least, not until she put something more than what may as well have been a wash cloth on.

Whiterun truly was a large city. It wasn't as large as the Imperial City, but it certainly was large enough to easily get lost in. I would have to wander aimlessly in the future here if I wished to find my way around.

It was easy, however, for me to find the palace. All I had to do was look atop the highest point of the city. The palace overlooked all, and the sun at its position behind it gave the illusion of a brilliant halo.

Climbing the steps to the palace itself was not easy. Rao's assistance restored my worst injuries, but only soothed the minor ones. Climbing the steps meant my already worn out ankles would suffer further abuse. Still, to show my pain would be the equivalent of spitting in the face of my ancestors, so I didn't so much as limp, but kept walking on as if nothing had happened to me.

The guards before the large double doors of the palace must have either received word of my arrival, or had such faith in the security indoors that a potentially dangerous stranger could be allowed to see the Jarl without fuss. To be fair, the security of Whiterun is very impressive. One particular guard in Whiterun is said to have been the sole survivor of a surprise attack on a caravan he was guarding. He fought with his blade until it broke, then used his shield to beat any remaining attackers to death. By the time he was rescued, there were 14 bandits, 2 giants, and 3 vampires lying dead all around him.

However, this is not his story. The point is, Jarl Balgruuf's palace was well maintained and very secure. Even the maids carried daggers. Something told me that brandishing a weapon here would be a very unwise decision, even for me.

The heavily armored dunmer that approached me in the warrior's stance did not make me feel much better.

"Halt. State your name and business in Dragonsreach," she growled. The sword she held toward my throat did not make me feel at ease, and though I had a good amount of training from mother for this type of situation, I did not want to risk being kicked out of Whiterun before being reunited with her, so I cooperated.

"I am Mia Tuk. Riverwood calls for the aid of Whiterun. A dragon has destroyed Helgen."

Now, I had to be prepared to respond to any retorts or expressions of disbelief. A dragon attacking a bustling city? Please. The dragons are long extinct. Few scholars were even sure at the time they'd even existed!

The dunmer warrior, however, responded with falter. Her blade fell from her grip, and a look of horror entered her eyes. The clang of her blade on the floor echoed through the room for the longest of times.

All conversations had stopped. The crackle of the firepit in the middle of the room dominated.

Then I, being the gentleman I was, knelt and picked up her blade for her. She had to have been a fierce warrior. There were many tally marks adorning the hilt, and the blade looked to have seen its share of battles. At my action, however, every other blade in the room became drawn. Even the Jarl himself held one forth.

I made the conscious effort to restrain myself of any retort and slowly handed her the weapon. At then, the blades of the room slowly lowered. The Jarl himself sat back down in his throne.

I must say I was impressed at his willingness to stand to a potential hostile with his security force. The blade he wielded did not look for show, and his stance was practiced. To fight with him would not be quick.

The dunmer, though. She turned to face him. All her composure had returned.

"My Jarl! This stranger has news of Helgen."

"Then send him forward," he growled. He seemed upset that I was present. Or perhaps he wasn't happy he had to stand up. The way most Jarls sit in their thrones, I'm surprised the man wasn't hunchbacked.

The dunmer took a knee before him, and opened one crimson eye to glare at me, as if she wished to incite me to do the same. I refused, though. Much like the only people I've bowed to in life were my instructors and mother, I do not present myself on a knee to anyone. Spartans do not kneel.

The Jarl himself, however, didn't seem offended. If anything, he was impressed. His eyebrows rose as I spoke.

"I can confirm that Helgen was destroyed. If not by a dragon, then another flying black beast."

The Jarl looked to his right at a well dressed man that seemed to be sweating under his gaze.

"Well, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a _dragon?!_ "

"Hold on, my lord. Are we to really trust what this random off the street tells us? For all we know, he could be of the Stormcloak rebellion."

I growled lowly.

"What was your business in Helgen, stranger?" asked the Jarl. He almost looked like an older Ralof to me. He sounded about as exciting as him, too.

"Not important," I said. "What is important is-"

" _I_ decide what is or is not important here, stranger. Now share," he said. I scowled, but obliged him...

"I was in town on business with my mother. The Imperials brought prisoners to town to be executed. Ulfric Stormcloak was among them."

...and by "obliged" him, I mean "blew smoke up his rear end." Still, he seemed to buy my story. The dunmer remained stoic and still as a statue.

"I might have known Ulfric was mixed up in this mess. Funny, he and I used to meet in Helgen for a pint when we were free. Not as of late, what with the civil war brewing... I digress."

With that, the Jarl looked towards the man that shot a thinly veiled accusation at me.

"Proventus, send a detachment of guards to Riverwood at once."

"My lord, have you eaten on the insane root? If we were to do that, what opinions would Falkreath hold come up with? They may think we are siding with the Stormcloaks and retaliate!"

The Jarl, having been talking in mutters to the dunmer after his command, slowly turned his head back to the foolish stick that could not stay his tongue.

"I was not asking, Proventus. Send a squad this instant, or I will go there myself."

The man sputtered, but obeyed. There was no other choice for him. I scowled once more as he walked past me, and I kept my eyes on him as he headed for the door.

"You."

Satisfied he was not about to give me a reason to plant him in the ground, I turned to the source of the voice. It was the Jarl himself.

"Not just anyone would have gone out of the way to get my attention. It takes courage. I thank you, stranger."

I curtly nodded.

"I have another favor to ask of you," he said.

"I believe I am fresh out of favors," is what I should have said. Instead I was silent.

"I repay my debts here," he continued. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for my mother. Argonian woman, brewer of alcohol. We hail from Cheydinhal and in the chaos at Helgen agreed to meet here."

"Your mother is an Argonian?" asked the dunmer with a slight hint of hostility. I ignored her.

"I see, and you worry about her?"

I wasn't worried yet, to be honest. In spite of the many things mother did well, there was always one major flaw: there is absolutely no such thing as five minutes with that woman. Having said that, I was prepared to wait several weeks while she burned any trails she may be leaving behind or doing other things that former Shadowscales do. I shook my head.

"I simply hope you would ensure that, should she be here, you send for me."

The Jarl nodded. "Consider it done. I will do you this favor, and in exchange, you speak to my court wizard. I am sure he can find some use for you."

I wasn't about to deny this man his favor now. I feared being forced out of Whiterun by the Thalmor before Mother could meet with me. If that were to happen and courier were sent to me, we could regroup.

This should have been the end of my story, but it wasn't, because in doing the favor I did for Ralof's family, I accidentally set forth a chain of events that revolved around me being told what to do by people that I don't like.

I hate it when that happens.

End of Chapter

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 **4,331 words.**

 **So hi, I'm back after quite a busy couple of months. A few films I worked on were nominated for/received awards at a film festival a few weeks ago, which is nice. Additionally, in the next few weeks, between shifts at work I plan to scout locations for a commercial shoot. Wish me luck.**

 **Mia Tuk drawing the fly on his shield is a reference to a true story. A Spartan soldier drew a life sized fly on his shield and when his allies accused him of cowardice, because the enemy would never see it and know it was him, he said it would be as large as a lion when he smashed his shield into their faces.**

 **Next chapter covers preparations, and the first three quarters of Bleak Falls Barrow.**


	12. Mia Tuk, The Tomb Raider

**Chapter 12**

 **Mia Tuk, The Tomb Raider**

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 **"Knowing is not enough, we must apply. Willing is not enough, we must do."**

 **-Bruce Lee**

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Different cultures have different histories, religions, values, and even morals. One culture can be a far cry from another, yet at the same time, there tend to be similarities.

Each civilized hold has a basis of rule, or a form of government. The Empire has, well, the Emperor, for instance. In Sparta, we used a complex system of Kings, magistrates, and a council of elders to form laws.

We didn't employ a she man prancing about in a dress calling himself a Court Wizard. High king? Never heard of her.

The Court Wizard of Whiterun was, I must say, highly intelligent. His command of magic was impressive. The problem was, he knew it, and he was full of himself because he could cast spells, and wore a flowy black robe that may as well have been a gown, and could read.

When he saw me enter his room, he scoffed.

"By the Eight, the Jarl could have sent me anyone off the street, and he sent _you?_ "

I growled lowly and he sighed.

"Very well, I suppose you'll do for basic chores. Can you run to the apocathery and pick some supplies up for me?"

"I'll pick your teeth up off the floor if you ask me that again," I said.

He stared at me.

"Very good. You may actually be worthy of my time. I need a favor. I need you to delve into an old tomb and search it for a slate. If records are correct, the slate will have information regarding the dragons, assuming they are real and coming back. Even if it turns out they are not real creatures, it would be a fine spot of reading, wouldn't you say?"

"I wouldn't," I said lowly.

He eyed me for a short while, as if wondering whether to belittle me or just give me details for his "favor." Fortunately for him, he chose the latter.

"I want you to go into the tomb, find this tablet, and bring it back here for me. You will be rewarded."

Still though, the man scowled at me. I was again in the armor I survived Helgen with, and there were a few large scorch marks on it. You know of my bow's current condition, and my shield was made of wood.

"Gah, but your current equipment is absolutely horrendous. Go get outfitted by the Jarl's men, then head to Riverwood, that miserable little town... You'll see the tomb overlooking it. You can't miss it."

I said nothing more to him. Have I mentioned I couldn't stand that man? I walked back to the Jarl, who in turn directed me to a room on his right. It was there that I was made to strip the old armor. I offered my wooden shield for a few spare septims, as it was still a shield, and I refused to relinquish my bow to the Jarl's men. It is customary for Shadowscales to retire a destroyed bow in another way, and I wished to honor Mother. They still gave me a wooden bow that was in better condition regardless.

Now, outfitted with the light armor befitting a low ranking Imperial (not that I wished to be an Imperial as a boy), I looked over my new weaponry.

I'd been given a new shield that could cover more of my person. It was heavy iron and looked to be badly abused. There were large scratches across much of the surface, and it had likely once been black. My request for white paint and a small brush were granted, and once more a fly adorned it.

As for my sword, I retained the crummy iron one I'd received for my errand in Riverwood. It hadn't seen action by my side yet, and I hoped I would not need it. Sure enough, I was scoffed at by several guards when they saw it. It honestly felt more club than blade to me.

I, to this day, feel out of place in this world. I greatly fear losing my memories as I age, and that in part is one of the reasons I write these tales today. I've been called many things: Dovahkiin, traitor, companion, thief, parasite, monster... the truest name is that which I have never been called. Had mother still been a Shadowscale when I was being raised, there was a chance I'd be taken in by them. Such a twist did not occur, of course, so I today maintain that I am Spartan.

Truthfully, I've been questioned by many and my antics may seem strange, but I hold fast to my heritage, and would give nothing less than my life to defend it.

I say so because of the mockery I heard on the way out of Whiterun through its marketplace. I said nothing to any of them. No use in explaining myself to sheep.

The walk back to Riverwood was uneventful. I'd encountered no wolves on the path, and those I did see in the distance paid me no heed.

Gods, but I was hungry and tired. I'd been gifted a few scraps that were once rations by the Jarl's men. I made a point to eat outside of town, though. The sound of running water and lack of prying eyes or conversing mouths soothed me. I drank my fill of water from my water bladder, then wandered into the town that had served as my home for a few days. I had an idea which tomb he may have been talking about. The nearest one was enormous and it overlooked the entire small town, almost daring anyone to enter its walls.

I straightened myself up, and I began walking up the path to the tomb.

The last thing I expected to run across was a group of bandits. I'd never had to do battle with a bandit before, though Mother had on several occasions. I recall her returning home with bruises and scratches, and though she would leave to make a delivery with a bow and a full quiver, she would return with fewer arrows. If I asked, she'd simply tell me I should see the other guy.

Be it good fortune or word of her fighting prowess, we never saw such action when we travelled together.

The woman in makeshift armor stopping me not far from the tomb would be my first bandit. As soon as I saw her, I knew there would be trouble.

"Shall I depart here with your goods, or your life?" she asked me.

The archer in me just knew she had some ranged backup too. I found my warrior's stance and brought up my shield.

"Neither," I said. She held up two fingers and an arrow was loosed. It passed harmlessly to the side, though it would have done little against my shield.

Remember when I said the fly I drew would be the size of a lion when it was smashed in the face of an enemy? The woman that attempted to mug me would attest to that statement. I'd bashed her with the shield with force, and stunned her long enough to draw my blade. It took one practiced slash for her throat to mimic the scar upon mine.

This all occured between two arrows being loosed. Whoever her ranged backup was was clearly not very good with the bow. Though I hadn't initially known where he was, the second arrow gave me an idea, and I began searching the direction it seemed to come from.

I had to duck behind my shield again to avoid another arrow. This one actually struck it with an audible thud.

I frowned. This fight would not do. I wished to dominate a battle that would be hard won by me, and this was not such a battle. Part of me wanted to play with the fool a bit, even.

Forgive my arrogance. Perhaps I am bitter that my first taste of a bandit attack was so poor.

With another arrow being blocked by my shield, I found my quarry. He was in an improper stance, he was holding the bow incorrectly, and he almost looked to be shaking, though he did not seem scared. Perhaps he was weak with hunger.

In any case, I sheathed my blade, which piqued his curiosity, then I drew my bow, and nocked an arrow. We each fired at the same time.

His arrow fell short of me by about a meter. Had it landed, I don't believe it would have been a lethal injury. My aim was true, however, and again I thanked Mother. Without her training, I would likely not have survived Helgen.

The bandit collapsed to the ground in a heap, but he was not dead. My arrow found its rest in his shoulder. He was hurting, but it was no mortal wound.

I didn't even approach him. I let him writhe about in pain. I had no words for him. Had the battle concluded the other way, I have no doubt he would have killed me with a smile on his face. I was no monster at the time though, and so I spared him.

It was not easy to do, though. I wanted to admire the fear in his eyes, and today I kick myself. I should have known then that there was a problem, but I ignored it. This was, after all, my first encounter with bandits. I unwisely chose to ignore my inner strife and proceeded forward. I didn't even bother searching the body of the one bandit I _did_ kill. I did, however, draw my blade once more.

I may have mentioned this in passing before, but a true Spartan warrior does not allow himself to be seperated from his shield. If he does not either recover it or die trying, he is disgraced and is no more honored than a coward. I recall when I was a babe before I took ill a story. One man not only threw down his shield, but he fled from battle. When he returned home, his mother approached him, pointed to her nether regions, and threatened to unbirth him. He was redeemed only when he sacrificed himself for the good of his fellow soldiers in a later battle.

The shame a coward faces oft drives him to suicide in my home. One who loses the shield is considered a menace to our people, for not only does he risk himself, but he risks the man next to him, too. If presented with the choice of a weapon or a shield, we always go for the shield.

Of course, losing your weapon is no picnic either. I'll get to that in a moment. First, I feel I should describe the tomb and the feeling it radiated.

First of all, the day was crisp and clear when I was in Riverwood, and it remained thus even while I was walking the path to the tomb itself. It wasn't until I got within around half a kilometer of it that things started to change. The sky began to darken, the wind picked up, an irrepressible feeling of dread filled my person, but at the same time, something else was present. I felt guided in my path, like I was meant to be here, but I at the time feared being cursed by potentially angry spirits from within. The last thing I needed, after all, was to be enthralled.

When I finally saw the tomb in its entirety close up, I was awestruck. Though it was crumbling, it was still enormous. Large pillars were erected near the door in numbers; few were necessary support beams and most were just decorative. Though they were weathered and abused in their time, they still stood tall. Moss covered the steps and breached many of the stones. The air was both alive, and at the same time, dead.

I was too absorbed in the beauty and eeriness of the tomb. Even so, I should give credit where it is due. The archer that managed to knock the blade from my hand with a single arrow did not hesitate in his shot.

Don't bother. I didn't get it either. Why did they have such a crackshot at the tomb itself and such a woeful excuse of an archer robbing people on the road? I never understood their reasoning.

The first thing an untrained man or woman may do after receiving fire from an enemy archer is usually an attempt to locate where the shot came from. A trained soldier of Sparta or anywhere worth its salt, however, knows to cease and bring up the shield. I hid myself behind it, and it was a wise decision. Three more arrows found the shield center mass in rapid form. I found myself flashing back to my training again.

I remember this day clearly, for it was but a week after my fifteenth birthday. Mother stood opposite me, and we were each holding a bow and a quiver full of practice arrows. We were in the woods just outside of town. She and I wore protective gear upon our heads and over our hearts and vital organs. The armor was designed such that it was difficult to make out from the dirt and grass.

Saying nothing at first, she nocked an arrow before me. I remained still, like a true Shadowscale.

"Mia Tuk, there is a stark difference between doing battle with a fellow archer, and doing battle with an ace."

Being the actress that she was, Mother feigned difficulty in maintaining the bow, then quickly found herself and loosed the practice arrow, which landed just between my feet.

"It's often a game of cat and mouse," she said. "There will be much exchange, then none. There will be a long detente somewhere in the battle. Ironically, it's that very moment of lessened hostility that tends to spell doom for the loser, for it can lull you into lowering your guard."

Mother took a few steps back, and in a fluid motion, had another arrow nocked.

"In reality, this is the time you should be most aware of your situation. An archer often has backup via close ranged reinforcements. If you found yourself in such a situation, the best option is to flee from the battle, regroup, and try again."

She noted the scowl on my face. "I know you, child. You are of blood that would shed not but on the battlefield. You wouldn't retreat under any circumstance."

I nodded. To do so would mean my being considered a coward and a traitor to my people, and the one thing I wished to become among anything else was a Hoplite, just like my father and oldest brother.

"In your case, foolish one, the best option is to escape the ace's pre-targeted zone of fire, and beat back your pursuers. A true ace wouldn't make the mistake of seeking you out. Then, it's a matter of dispatching the melee users, and engaging the ace, one shot at a time."

Mother loosed her practice arrow upward, and attempted to catch it in her free hand. It ultimately clattered to the floor in a heap and she smiled sheepishly. Can't win them all.

She cleared her throat. "My people have a motto: One shot, one kill."

She held up one clawed finger to emphasize her point.

"Whether we hit or not, when doing battle with an ace especially, we take one shot, and then we relocate and try again if necessary. Rinse and repeat until the target is dead. All it takes an elite archer is one missed shot to find your location."

She smiled once more at me. "It's like I said: Cat and mouse."

I smiled.

"Today, we will practice your abilities, and so I want you to do battle with me. Tag me once, and you win, but here's the catch: You can't use the same location more than once, and I will be looking for you. Are you ready?"

I nodded. She smiled, but quickly straightened my helmet and shook her head jokingly.

"Now, child. Show me how you fare against a Shadowscale."

I remember well what happened next. Mother gave me five seconds to find cover, then loosed an arrow in my direction. Though I was behind a tree, I could feel the impact through the cover.

She loosed another arrow, which grazed the bark of my cover just to the right of me. I felt that she'd struck so intentionally.

"If you continue to dally behind that tree, I will flank you and the game will be over. You're going to have to make a move sooner or later, Mia Tuk!"

Another arrow was loosed, and again it grazed the bark of the tree. Another followed in rapid form, digging into the dirt near me.

I retrieved her arrow with a hand free of cover, and she held fire. It was a wise move on her part. If she shot again and missed I would have just one more arrow to use against her.

I nocked the arrow just as she taught me, and peeked out from cover on my left without hesitation. As quickly as I could then manage, I loosed three arrows at her in rapid form, and used the cover they granted me to move to a new, unknown location from her.

All was silent as I drew estimates in my head of angles, wind speeds, and distance itself to my target. Additionally, all had to be done under stress, for one misstep could cost me my life. Doing battle with an ace is hell on the nerves.

I loosed my arrow and rolled right behind my cover again to wait for a return shot. I was granted not one, but four. This ace may have actually been a faster shot than mother, let alone me.

I knew better than to leave my cover using only my shield, because from what I've seen demonstrated, this archer may have been able to hit my legs, so I performed a trick that really wasn't difficult to think up: I tossed a rock at a tree, which made his attention deviate from my cover enough for me to swap out again.

The ultimate reason this ace fell on that day was because he was not changing his cover after each shot. I constantly knew where he was, but because _I_ switched every chance _I_ got, he had limited knowledge of my whereabouts.

The fight ultimately ended in a disconcerting way. At last, I'd loosed the arrow that carried him to his demise, and I approached him cautiously after having delivered the deadly wound. The arrow caught him in the heart.

His hands were still gripped tightly on the bow, and an arrow was resting nestled in it. He'd not nocked yet, but was facing my direction. Not a night goes by that I don't consider my own mortality. Had I hesitated just a second longer, he'd have loosed his arrow and killed me. We were facing each other, but I shot first.

I gave a shiver then, and took a few arrows from his quiver. I also took the arrowhead from that which could have killed me. Today it stays in my study.

I continued on up a few stairs as the forested hills gave way to the barren tomb, and I gave a groan when I recalled my sword lying in the grass somewhere. Still, I felt more confident in my ability to fend off attack with my bow at that point than I did in finding a small iron sword in the middle of grass that was waist high when I lost it.

Also, and I may have mentioned this in passing after my episode with the harrassing Thalmor agent I deflated, but there was one thing I excelled at among all other things in Sparta, and that was our close quarters combat sport, Pankration. This strength came from being taught of it since I could walk. My father, Leonidas (no relation to the mighty king) and oldest brother, Mora Tuk took it upon themselves to teach me well before I was sent for the agoge.

Like to the foreign language of the dragons, I was a sponge to Pankration, and found myself at a considerable advantage when we sparred thus.

To this day, I thank my father and brother for their training. I would have died on countless occasions without it.

The exterior before the doors of the tomb seemed to have become a makeshift camp of sorts, but it did not seem to be active. The tents were empty and the bedrolls were musty. Whoever had lived here, be it the bandits or some other fools, had left well in advance of my trip. I wondered then if the bandits I encountered had any bearing at the tomb itself. My shield was never lowered as I approached the grand doors at the entrance.

The entrance was truly an architectural masterpiece. The doors were huge with large pull rings and rusted iron hinges. The entrance was easily capable of welcoming a large creature. Perhaps even a dragon.

I felt a shiver run down my spine again, for fear of the dragon having entered the tomb in my absence. Capable though I was, I did not consider myself able to take on a creature of myth, especially after a town full of trained men and women fell razed to its might.

My shield stayed high and I took a deep breath. A true Spartan is without fear, and with a strong pull, I opened one of the large doors with a deafening creak.

Gods, but I hate the Draugr. Part of me shivers to think that, in my home, my corpse could have been risen to become something like these creatures. Though I would not be much of a threat, being a mere babe, the idea of my bones not sleeping, admittedly, frightens me a little.

The crypt was cold and musty. The air was stagnant within and the only available light was from the opened door. Being woefully inefficient at magic, I opted to leave the door ajar to light my way a little. I cursed myself for failing to pack a torch.

It was odd. Though this was a tomb, I saw no bones within. Granted, I was still very close to the entrance.

Among the things that I should mention about draugr to the unwary traveller is this: Years upon years of undeath thwarted the efforts of preservation, at least to a small extent. You may think that such a tomb would smell horrendous, but the further in you go, the better it actually smells. There is no stench of decomposition. There is the smell of herbal remedies and preservation. Draugr tend to smell very good.

The important thing to note is this: If you can avoid a fight with the draugr, do it. While it's true any additional strength they may have been granted in death was nullified by their age, they are by and large extremely capable fighters. The only people buried in such tombs were nobles and elite warriors. The warriors do not go down easily. If you can strike them, they tend to die again fairly quickly, but the issue is actually striking them. While I've easily defeated a few I have encountered, others granted me a narrow victory, and others still would have defeated me had I not had outside help. More on such things later, though.

I bring up the draugr because, well, the draugr were here. Not too many, but enough. There had been two bandits that set up a small camp inside the tomb, which was a terrible idea. Now, they were in danger of becoming guardians of these halls like the dead they have joined. I left their remains to the fates, though I did turn out their pockets for a few loose septims. Then, I continued deeper into the tomb.

It was not long until I was beset upon by my first draugr. The creature's skin was so weathered and its body so frail that I questioned its sanity. This was all before I learned well of the draugr and the danger of their presence.

Though I was now without a sword, I still had my shield, and the draugr seemed to take note. It struck my shield with a powerful blow (its accursed blade sent vibrations through my arm), but dodged clear before I could strike back. I had every intention of beating this creature to death with my shield...

...Yet, I found I could not do so. Every movement the draugr made was of a practiced veteran, and so if I were to quickly close the gap between us, it would be little trouble to kill me in the brief opening of my defense. Likewise, if I were permitted to inch my way forward without lowering my defense, the draugr would be defeated, too.

It seemed to understand the issue, and we developed a stalemate. For time unknown to me, we had a standoff. My eyes never left its form; every little tic counted. If I failed to register the slightest movement, it could mean my death.

I had to pull out a trick Mother taught me in order to succeed in this battle, and even then, it only worked because I was also proficient with Pankration.

Mother's tendency when facing a foe in close quarters was to manuever the battlefield to her advantage. If there were river rapids near she and her quarry, she would inch her way around so the combatant's back was to it, leaving no room to escape. If she desired a specific area to operate, she would manuever just the same.

It's surprisingly difficult to manipulate the battlefield without an opponent getting wise. If you are too obvious, your enemy sees what you're trying to do and your plan fails. If you are too slow, the enemy will have more of a chance of defeating you or finding an exploitable weakness.

Seeing that the draugr was only going to strike, then leap out of my space before I could retaliate, I began to draw its attacks and eyes with my shield and upper body. Slowly, I circled to the right, and I continued doing so as we danced our dance.

The draugr, however, ultimately took note of what I was attempting to do, and here was its fatal mistake:

It took its eyes off me, and put them to the wall nearing its back. Though only for a second, it was all I needed to close the distance and strike.

The gastrizein, as my people know it, is a very powerful heel kick capable of causing anything from hairline fractures to full breaks in certain bones, when performed correctly. It is a full force kick with the heel, in which the foot is brought up vertically, rotated such that the heel faces the enemy, and it meets your opponent in quick decisive action. When correctly executed, such a kick is enough to render an unarmored opponent incapacitated. For an armored opponent, it is both demoralizing and capable of ending defensive measures temporarily, as well as potentially breaking bones.

I recall the sound of cracking as my foot made contact with the draugr's torso. Its rotten old armor buckled inward at the pressure and it fell to a knee. For the first time, I took note of wheezy rasping coming from it. There were no words.

I did not let it recover. I kicked its blade away and drove the narrow of my shield between its neck and shoulder. My snapping of its neck, however, is what ended its attack. Before I left the scene, I was sure to recover its blade. Though it was ratty and old, it would be better than fighting without a blade at all.

As I continued further into the tomb I began to encounter random corridors, traps to deter grave robbers, more draugr, skeevers (the damned rodents), bats, moisture, and just about every unpleasantry under the sun.

I had to swear when I came across my first puzzle. The way to its solution was no doubt written before me upon a pedestal, which meant nothing to me, or so I thought.

I stared at the alien carvings for a long while, hoping to make sense of them, and through some miracle, I did. It may sound ridiculous, but something in me knew what the words said, and I almost felt as though I were a simple observor and my body was acting of its own accord, and before I knew it, I found myself...

...walking into an enormous web. I would add that I'd been mid yawn, and got a mouthful of baby spider.

Neither of us were pleased. The poor thing wanted out of my mouth and away from me just as bad as I wanted it out of my mouth and away from me. In my anger, I'd tossed the baby to the ground and stomped on it.

Bad move.

Before I knew what was going on, there was a wad of webbing around my feet, and I was all but glued to the ground.

A spider, similar to the one I'd just killed but much, much, _much_ larger than me had landed no more than a few meters ahead of me, and it didn't look very happy.

I felt my heart begin to pump faster as my body tried to panic, but I did all in my power to avoid doing so.

Instead of focusing on trying to free my legs, I drew my blade and held forth my shield. The beast slowly approached me, and brought one of its front legs up, as if it desired to pierce me and end my struggle.

With a mighty swipe, however, I knocked its other leg out from under it, and it crumbled for a moment. Its head near my torso, it attempted to chomp at me, and it managed to grasp my shield. I felt pain shoot through my side as the creature's other leg pierced my light armor and drew blood.

All it would have to do was pull me from the floor with that one arm and I would expire. Before it could right itself and attempt to do so, however, I managed a long slice at its face, blinding a few of its eyes and earning a shriek of pain from the creature. Its arm retreated, and it stood tall again.

I could feel blood beginning to spill out of my wound at an increased rate, but I showed no pain. Again, the creature attempted to end my struggle, this time with its long fangs, but again I blocked with my shield. I felt my arm begin to strain under the pressure and I knew it was only a matter of time before I buckled. Again I felt a leg aggravate my wounded side, and in the last available second I had, I managed to drive my blade through the bottom of its skull.

There was no death cry or such nonsense, and this creature was certainly not guarding the treasure I'd been sent to find. When it collapsed, I had to push its head to the side so I could recover my blade, which I then used to cut through the webbing around my feet. My last order of business then was to remove the leg from my side so I could treat my wound.

I shook off any webbing left on my person, as well as the adrenaline rush from the encounter, and I resumed my walk through the web covered room, tripping on a dried husk that wore a leather helmet and had once been human. I gave a shudder, for fear of my fate if I fell here.

Something glistened within the husk, though. The bones were dark black and it smelled ungodly. Still, I knew if there were valuables, I would need them. Perhaps the glistening object was the treasure I was looking for after all? Maybe it was much smaller than I was led to believe.

So, I cut open the webbed husk and rooted around in the remains for the glistening object, and I found a golden artifact which resembled a dragon's claw. Instantly I saw septims running through my head. This was, however, long before I'd found any other such claws. They're really quite common, but I digress.

At the time, I kept it on me as I believed it could make me wealthy. It was good I took it too, because it would become important soon enough.

I did not stop until I found an area that was secure enough and spiderweb free enough for me to safely look at and dress my wound. I was applying pressure to it using my free hand as I walked, and I managed to staunch the bleeding, at least to a degree. It wasn't pouring out of my injury, but the steady flow caused concern in me. The Court Wizard, in his infinite wisdom, did not deem it necessary to send me off with a life tonic. I had no more than a bag of salt I'd found in the tomb, and so I took a breath, and rubbed it into the wound.

The sting was bearable, thanks to my adrenaline, but I knew I was buying time. I needed to get medical attention as soon as possible. Until then, however, it was a matter of wrapping cloth around my waist and hoping I would see the light of day again before infection set in.

I had to suppress a groan, as the attacks I'd sustained rendered my armor compromised. My shield was in decent condition, all things considered, and the blade I took off the first draugr I encountered was holding up surprisingly well. It got me through a few skeevers, which was not difficult at any rate, and the blade seemed to have an effect on the draugr, as seeing it in the hands of a human instead of their numbers brought alarm to their attacks and postures. As a result, a few began making mistakes that left dealing with them almost trivial. Others, however, took determination from it and would attack with great fervor.

I did not clean out the Barrow of treasures or undead. Many draugr I saw wore patchwork armor made from pieces of armor they took off their enemies. Some even held tight in their bony hands blades and axes as black as mother's old bow and dagger. I did not take the weapons from them, though, because though these particular draugr were not hostile to me, it was only because they seemed to be sleeping. In rooms full of them, I called upon my innate stealth and slowly made my way through what would form hordes if awoken. To take a weapon from one of them would mean I risk awakening all of them.

So, I continued through the tomb well into the night, stopping only to eat a little honey stored there and drink. My wounds burned lightly under my sweat.

Finally, I came across a long hallway, on the walls of which were adorned many heiroglyphs. Some of the scribblings were worn away, though I do recall wondering what they all meant. I later found out that many of the markings told the story of the legendary Dragon War, though there was also plenty of graffiti by the ancients, along the lines of, "Nye has a tiny schlong" and, "I fancied Katerina here six times."

At the end of the hallway, which felt as though it was a kilometer in and of itself, was another wall with inscriptions upon it, and three small hollows in the middle. I set three fingers into the hollows, but little happened, if anything.

Then, I tried poking the hollows with the tip of my blade. It made sense to me, since the blade was of the tomb itself. Unfortunately, I was wrong. I growled lowly. If I could read the inscription I probably could have solved the puzzle, if it was even a puzzle at all. At the time, part of me was wondering if this giant wall was the stone tablet I was hunting for. I reasoned down to the hollows, which were surrounded by three discs which were likely once golden. Perhaps the actual tablet was comprised of the discs themselves, set in some kind of order?

I began playing around with the wall itself for what felt like an eternity. Eventually, defeated, I sat before the wall for a rest.

The sound of the treasure I'd found in the husk clinked against the stone floor, and I took it from my satchel and eyed it.

I wondered... The claws on the treasure looked promising, and so I stood again, and pressed them into the hollows. For good measure, I twisted a bit left and right, and to my surprise, there was rumbling.

I took a few steps back from the door, just in time for debris to fall from above. I could hear mice scattering, and the entire wall before me sunk into the ground, to show me another room.

My, but it was a large room. I took a few moments to marvel at the size. How could this cavern be hidden in such a crypt?

In some means I do not know of, there was plant life in this cave, though the sun was not visible. The only reason it was possible to see in this place was due to many different magical orbs. I wondered if any of the draugr had cast them.

There were even trees growing in this room. The plants looked quite healthy. Many of the walls had been broken down by nature to reveal stone beneath. It was reclaiming the tomb, and without the use of Spriggans.

There was, however, one wall which drew me toward it. It was up a short flight of steps, and I had to steel myself.

There was a coffin a stone's throw from the wall. I did not know then if it was occupied or not. I remained quiet nonetheless.

I still, however, drew forth my blade at the sound of many voices chanting. The room was becoming quite loud. I could feel my heart beating in my ears.

Again, I nervously glanced towards the coffin. There was no response from it. Could it be that I was hearing things?

I put a hand to my head and took a breath, but the incomprehensible chanting was still there. This time, however, they felt directed.

My head shot to the wall, upon which were many scribblings that made no sense to me.

Or at least, they should not have.

There was one small section that was positively glowing before me. If these were real words and not just random doodlings, then it was one word.

Unconsciously, I felt myself drawing closer to it. The chanting continued growing louder and louder, and it became almost deafening. What was once glowing but a bit, as if it could be a trick of the eye, was now blinding. Yet, I could not tear myself away. As I got closer, I held out a hand, and I made physical contact.

Again, visions of flight and conquest washed through my skull. I saw enemies frying beneath me, as if I were the black beast of Helgen. I heard the sounds of shouting and screaming as villagers and guardsmen tried to survive.

At last, I heard it.

 _"Fus!"_

It was all that was needed to render me unconscious. I fell back from the wall, and my blade clattered useless beside me.

I really needed to stop doing this.

End of Chapter

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 **6,755 words. Before I proof read it, I had 6,662 words. 4 more and I would have been happy. Damn.**

 **Could everyone just stop killing each other now? Seriously. MLK would turn in his grave if he knew what happened a few weeks ago. As for the massacre in Florida, what did those people do to deserve that? Is their happiness that much of a threat to you? I'm embarrassed to be human.**

 **Next chapter covers the rest of the tomb, by which I mean the fight and... yeah. So I'll see you then.**


	13. Dulce Et Decorum Est

**Chapter 13**

 **Dulce Et Decorum Est**

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 **"The only way to stop another holocaust is to remember the first."**

 **-Elie Wiesel**

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I should not remember what I do remember. I thought unconsciousness was supposed to be a gap in the memory, so I'm unsure of whether to call what happened to me unconsciousness or something else.

I remember that my body was sprawled out beneath me, assuming the T shape, as if I were to be crucified.

How odd it was to see the crypt I was in! Below me, I could see the room, but when I looked straight ahead, there was darkness.

However, I was not the only one present in the lonely abyss. I was light.

The beast was huge, and it looked familiar to me. I couldn't forget this creature, for it was the one I saw when I was killed in Sparta. Though it had been years; years that had weighed heavily and corroded memories far more fleeting than a dream or prophecy, I remembered everything about this creature as soon as my eyes found it again: The crimson markings were all in the same places as the first time I saw it. Its scales were otherwise a brilliant white.

The creature itself seemed blinding, as if I were having an audience with Apollo.

As I did so many years before, I steeled myself to fight. The beast, however, made no movement.

It Spoke to me.

"Drem yol lok, Dovahkiin."

I said nothing, and only stared as the creature eyed me. From below, I could hear crickets chirping.

I could swear it began to grin at me. I did what I could to move away from it, though I now found myself near paralyzed. Could I, a Spartan warrior, truly be fearful of such a creature? I would bring shame to my ancestors.

"Nii los seik wah ahfon."

This time, I responded. "I do not understand you, beast. Just who are you?"

The beast, in spite of the horrifying teeth in its maw, the thick scale hide that looked impenetrable, and the eyes which hid so much from me, still managed to smile gently.

"Bormahu."

I only stared blankly. The creature continued to Speak, and I remained silent at its words. With each word formed by its mouth, I felt something alien awaken in me a little bit more. While listening intently, hoping to find meaning in what meant nothing to me at the time, my mind was also wandering.

"Dovahkiin yah fin Dovahgolz."

My eyes glanced down at my still form, then the cursed wall. Suddenly I felt myself dropping slowly. The world began to fill in around me and the beast began to vanish.

Its Words to me next, however, were quite clear.

"Krif voth ahkrin, krif voth _FUS!"_

Suddenly I drew breath and exhaled with a shout. My body hitched, and I was me again. The wall no longer glowed, though I could feel heat coming off of it, even being a meter or so away.

There was a loud crack, and then a thud behind me. I whirled around. The coffin was opening. I braced myself for the fight, picking up my blade hastily in the process.

Another draugr climbed out of the coffin, but something was strange. This one was different. Even being human, I was almost able to sense the power coming off the creature. It wore a thick black helmet, but its face was unprotected. On its hip, a blade, and on its ankle, I saw a small knife. Through some type of witchery this creature actually radiated darkness; what amounted to dark flames licked at its shoulders and skull. Still, I foolishly made an assumption, and it was that this draugr would be defensive, like the others I'd at then fought.

I was dead wrong. With quick reflexes, it pulled a well balanced blade from behind it and tossed it at me. I barely had time to react, and the blade ended up catching me in my arm- the very same I was using for my swordplay. Pain blossomed in it as blood began to spurt out of the wound. I fought back my groan and kept my face stoic, but I pulled the blade free. It had gotten stuck in the bone.

The momentary lapse in my concentration was all the draugr needed. It closed the space between us and tackled me, knocking my sword out of my hand and the throwing knife away from me.

We rolled towards the wall, which remained warm. The draugr was atop me and I flashed back to that day so many years ago, when I was beset upon by the wolf. Like I did as a child, I attempted to grapple the draugr's head so I may snap its neck, but it was quick. In an instant it had me by the shoulders and it slammed me back into the ground. My head impacted the floor behind me and lights invaded my vision.

I wasn't going to let myself become distracted by the stars or even the pretty colors. I threw a sloppy punch at the draugr, and though my fist did not hit, my arm managed to jostle it out of whatever its next move was going to be.

In retaliation, it threw a punch back at me, and then slammed me into the ground again. By some stroke of luck, the attack brought my sense back to me. I threw a punch with my wounded arm (earning another spurt of blood from it), followed through with a smack by the side of my shield, and then with a heave, I kicked the creature off of me and swiftly regained my feet.

Before I could take advantage of the upper hand, however, I realized my error. I'd stood up too quickly and a rush of dizziness overtook me. Though I did not fall back down, the delay was all it took for the draugr to regain itself and face me again. Once more, it charged me, and I cursed myself. In my haste to regain my feet, I failed to retrieve my blade.

Again the draugr had me by the shoulders, and this time it shoved me into the wall, where my back felt hot at the touch. I saw a blade in its hand, dark as a starless night. There were twelve tallies adorning it. Though the draugr had no lips, I could swear it was grinning evilly at me.

"Hei los dii borii andiiv," it uttered in a foul, scratchy voice. It went to bring the knife into my heart, but I wasn't through yet. With a jerk, I managed to knock the blade out of its hand with my shield. Then, I used the wall I'd been pressed against to my advantage. I pushed off of it and forced the draugr several steps back, but not before I stole the sword from its hip. I scowled at my new weapon. Though the knife looked gorgeous, this sword seemed no different than mine.

"Ronak bo fah aan joor," it said. "Sovngarde saraan!"

In a fluid motion, my enemy picked the blade I'd dropped from the dirt, and it closed the distance between us.

Its moves were quick and calculated, and when I say quick, I mean quick. I could barely keep up with it. I was blocking its attacks with my shield and rarely had a chance to strike back. Any attack I did make was deflected by the blade that I'd carried through most of the tomb.

I recall, for a brief, fleeting moment, that I wondered if the battle was to end with me the victor at all. I feared this draugr. It attacked me with more ferocity than the black beast of Helgen did. I'd never seen anything quite like it at that point in my journey.

It wasn't until the bastard made one small error that my fear left me. It pulled its blade back to stab at me, which left it open for just a moment. It was all I needed to manage a quick slice across its abdomen. I cut through its armor easily, but the injury I inflicted was far from lethal. The only response I got was a grunt. Oh, and also the attack. It still stabbed at me. I managed to block with my shield, but the draugr followed through quickly. Another slice from the creature opened up a wound on my leg, and through reflex it buckled.

Again the draugr grabbed my shoulders. Before I could gut it, it whirled me around, and tossed me around a meter away such that its back was facing the wall. I brought myself to my feet again. Sweat was covering my body and stinging my gashes. I was losing blood and my head pounded.

"Fus..."

That word. The beast of my dream uttered that word too. What was happening?

All I heard next was, "Ro," followed by what I thought was an explosion. After that, I could hear nothing but ringing and hissing. A shockwave caught me and sent me flying back. I landed against the coffin this cursed draugr came from, but even that was not enough to dispel my backward momentum. I was carried over it.

For a moment, I managed to catch a glimpse of a plaque lying in the coffin. Something told me that was exactly what I was looking for. Meanwhile, my quiver had broken and my arrows had scattered everywhere from where I'd been standing to where I was to land.

I fell past the flight of stairs I'd climbed to get to the wall, and landed on my shield arm. I couldn't hear it, but I could feel the snap of bone in three seperate places. I rolled down the slope to a stop, and spared a look at the arm I'd landed on. The pain was enormous. Whether I stifled my groans or not, I'll never know. My hearing would not return to me. My blade? It was nowhere to be found. If losing swords were an olympic sport, I'd win the gold medal.

I barely had the energy to move any more. Killed by a dead man! Pathetic, Mia Tuk! I silently cursed myself while I writhed about on the ground. Above me, the draugr stared, as if disappointed. It held its throwing knife again, but hesitated. The throw went wide, though not through lack of skill.

I still could hear nothing, and I began, with my unbroken arm, to claw my way towards the stairs. If I was to die here, I wasn't going to go out cowering.

The draugr even seemed somewhat impressed. It had begun walking down the steps to finish me. I clawed my way up to meet him, and gripped his ankle with my good arm.

The creature had no mercy, and I expected none. It grabbed me by the neck with its blade hand (it had retired the blade to its sheath, and also retrieved its knife), and tossed me to the coffin again. I caught the corner with my ribs, and though they didn't break, they were badly bruised.

I was half propped up against the coffin, eyeing my prize. It was so close. I could take the tablet and flee, but if I fled a battle I'd be spitting in the face of my ancestors. I would never forgive myself.

The draugr turned me about, and it drew its knife once more. My back against the coffin, it prepared to deliver the coup de grâce. With one hand it steadied me. The other, it began to plunge the blade downward to my chest. I caught it with my unbroken arm, and though the pain was intense and blood began running from my throwing knife wound anew, I kept fighting against the creature.

Exhausion burned my muscles and gradually I was losing this fight. The knife sunk closer and closer to my breast, and I considered my options. My shield arm was broken, so I couldn't knock him away. I couldn't let go of his hand or I would be killed, and I couldn't force him away, as my center of balance was off.

I spared one final look at the tablet I was sent to retrieve. Shame. What would mother think? I wished to apologize to her. Images of her ran through my head as time seemed to slow down again. Her graceful jumps when we trained, her kind, loving smile, her pride in my dedication and discipline, her training me to knock an arrow...

The idea came to me, and I looked at my other side, down at the foot of the coffin. There were a few arrows in it. If I could just get to one...

If I let go of his hand, though, I wouldn't live long enough to retaliate. I considered the fierce ache of my broken arm, and heaved a sigh. This was going to hurt.

I forced life into my broken arm again and managed to slide it between the draugr and myself. Though it was still capable of stabbing me, the shield bought me some time before it could drive the blade all the way into my chest. With my other hand, I went for an arrow.

I felt the cold kiss of the knife, however. It slowly pierced my left breast. I could feel it straining its way between two ribs, and though it hadn't hit a vital organ yet, I still felt faint.

That was when I brought the arrow into its left eye. Almost instantly, the creature lurched up and away from me. Though I could not hear it, I knew it was shrieking in pain.

The draugr stumbled away from me as it tried to pull the arrow out of its eye, and I collapsed to my knees. My broken arm hung useless at my side, and the draugr's blade was partially embedded in my chest still.

I'd not begun coughing up blood yet, though, which was a good sign. I spared a look at the draugr. It was still trying to pull the arrow from its eye, and it was upon its knees facing away from me. I wouldn't have another chance. I swiftly recovered one more arrow and bit down on the shaft, and then I pulled the knife from my chest. With a final burst of energy, I spit the arrow aside, and I charged my enemy, stabbing it through the back of the neck with its own knife. I continued doing so until it collapsed in a heap under me.

Only when I was certain it was deceased did I roll to the side and onto my back. Blood was running from my wounds and my heart was pounding in my head. I could still hear nothing but hissing and whistling.

Though it was the last thing I wanted to do, I closed my eyes, and I do not know how long they were shut for. I do not know how long I was out for. When I came to again, a pool of blood had formed around me, but my wounds had finally coagulated.

I all but needed to be scraped from the ground. I glared at the dead draugr beside me for a moment, and then I took the blade I left embedded in its neck. It was a fine knife. I had every intention of keeping it.

I managed to get to my feet, but I was wobbly, and I needed a few breaks just to make the trip to the coffin. Finally, though, I retrieved the tablet, and I turned about, scanning once more to see if there was anything else to be pillaged.

That was when I noticed the doorway not far off from the wall. It was atop a slope, and was blocked by strong iron bars. Next to it, however, was a chain. I trudged to it, and using what little strength I had left, I pulled it, opening the way out. The tunnel had its twists and turns, but it cut my return trip to the surface down considerably. I'd come out of the barrow from a trapdoor hidden behind a tree. Though it took a few strikes (it had been overgrown and was locked), I managed to find my way out. I was quite near Riverwood, too.

For a healthy individual, the walk from where the temple had let out to Gerdur's house would have been ten or fifteen minutes. For me, however, it took over an hour. I kept having to stop and rest. My vision was swimming, and I still could hear nothing. I was regularly looking all around me to ensure nothing was sneaking up on me.

I looked like the walking dead. Many people that saw me wisely stood clear of me.

Finally, with nothing left in the tank, I made it back to Gerdur's house. Ralof was gone, but _she_ was home, and she looked alarmed at my intrusion. Wearily, I held forth the tablet, and when she took it, I fell to the floor in a heap. Unconscious.

Again.

Gods damn it.

End of Chapter

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 **2,904 words.**

 **Maybe I should change the title of this story to _Unconscious Simulator 2016._ Something about that feels good. If only DayZ didn't have rights to it.**

 **I kid. _Weekend At Mia Tuk's_!**

 **Ahem. So, that draugr fight was a lot more fun to write about. Also, as one of you mentioned, Mia Tuk was getting it a little too easy, wasn't he? Spider gave him a boo boo last chapter, and a draugr said bad things to him, and Alduin took his lunch money...**

 **Anyway, to the reviewer who mentioned that, I salute you. While we will still see Mia Tuk get through some fights fairly easily, it's not going to be all of them. Promise.**

 **Spoiler alert: He attacks the wrong chicken, and it gets all of its chicken friends together and kills him _Zelda_ style. If you don't know what I'm talking about, take my advice: Never attack the cuccos.**

 **Next chapter covers Mia Tuk's recovery, returning to Whiterun, and then going on a field trip to a watch tower.**


	14. The Tower of Babel

**Chapter 14**

 **The Tower of Babel**

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 **"Life is a gamble, at terrible odds- if it was a bet you wouldn't take it."**

 **-Tom Stoppard**

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I didn't open my eyes for near a week. Riverwood's healers could do little to help me initially, and I nearly succumbed to my injuries. I wasn't able to leave the house for a week and a half. My gashes were stitched shut, my arm was set and bound in a cast, and I didn't regain my hearing until I was able to walk again.

Even so, I was unable to carry my shield like this. At home, I would have probably been treated and kept off the battlefield until I was able to carry my shield again. I would not have been disgraced, for I did not lose it.

I almost felt naked without the comforting weight on my arm, even though it was still with me. I resorted to carrying it upon my back. I wasn't going to stay in Riverwood until my arm healed properly. There was a good chance it wouldn't without the help of some healers, anyway. My goal was to reach Whiterun and see the healers again. They wouldn't like me by the end of my story.

I insisted on walking back on my own, but Gerdur really wanted me to go with someone. Specifically Lod, who I wanted to spend as little time with as possible. If I was going to travel with someone, I wanted it to be someone I actually appreciated the company of. A drunk that woke me from my coma by demanding I get my candy ass up and out of the house was no such person.

I was deeply unsettled ever since I had awoken from my coma. I recall vividly the pools of blood that had spread upon the floors and walls. It was my blood. I know for a fact, as the draugr have none of the stuff. It had come forth in such quantities that I questioned my own mortality. What sorcery had kept me alive despite my profuse bleeding?

I tried and tried as I walked the path, but could not come up with an explanation. Was I just lucky? Had I hallucinated and in reality not lost as much blood as it looked to me?

I did not recall this at the time, but I was apparently stopped by a bandit, who saw my brutal injuries, and was stunned thus from the mugging. I walked by without being attacked. I was so deep in thought at the time that I had no idea I'd been threatened. The only reason I know now is because I was being watched by someone I would soon have the displeasure of knowing.

I was fortunate to have made the rest of the walk to Whiterun with little trouble. Either the beasts and scum of Skyrim mostly took the day off, or I was guided or extremely lucky. Had I gotten into a fight with my arm so mangled, I doubt I would have survived. Curse my stubborn will.

When I returned, the same guard I exchanged words with when I first came to town must have been there again, because he stole a long, continuous stare at me while I passed. I did my all to keep from eyeing him, and simply walked into the city on my way to the temple. My wounds protested with each step I was taking now, and it was a battle to keep my knees from buckling. When I was seen this time, however, it was not by Rao. I saw her busying herself with another man, who kept his hands over his lower half, as if he were waiting for an order.

"Can I help you?"

The one to assist me today was the enormous Orc man. He was even larger up close. I feared a giant at first, though, admittedly, I'm not very tall myself.

"Kelly?" I heard my voice ask.

"Call me Kel," he said, cracking his knuckles. I pondered for a bit whether I should just let my injuries heal naturally, or have the man who seemed to have to duck to fit in the doorway attend to me. I decided Kel's treatment was less dangerous, and I was propped up onto a healing alter.

I say propped up because Kel actually lifted me with one arm, gingerly avoiding my broken one, and set me upon it, though I protested that I was more than capable of doing so myself.

I should mention that the man was an excellent healer, and was good conversation. He spoke of his time as a sellsword, a skooma dealer, and even a bandit in his earlier years. His eyes were opened eventually when he saw a child killed by one of his gang. He subsequently beat the murderer within an inch of his life, and became a born again servant of Mara.

I should also mention that hearing these stories of your healer's physical prowess and "ability to snap a bone like a twig with one grip" are not something you want to know while that same person is tending your wounds.

Soon enough, though, the grevious injury to my breast had faded, as did my milder injuries sustained in the tomb. The most brutal injury I'd sustained was my broken and shattered shield arm, which nearly infected during my time recovering in Riverwood. As I once mentioned, it takes no less than a professional healer to fix broken bones. When the orc man was finished tending my other wounds, he gingerly held my broken arm. I was silent in spite of the terrific pain that burst through my shield half. He released my arm, and the pain settled to a dull roar. Then, the man ducked under the healing altar, and returned with a thick wooden stick.

"Bite down on this," he instructed. "It's going to hurt."

I declined, and he was unmoved.

"If you don't, you're going to damage your teeth or sever your tongue. Bite down on this."

"Can you not heal a wounded tongue?" I asked. He sighed.

"The wound isn't the concern. It's whether or not you swallow and choke on it. Bite down on the stick."

I grumbled lowly, but did as was asked finally. The orc positioned my arm straight out, and set to work. First, he draped a holy cloth over the arm, and began uttering softly in a tongue unfamiliar to me. Holy water was sprinkled over the cloth in droplets. The ceremony stopped for just a moment, and I saw the man eye the bottle of water. He removed the rubber nipple from the top and proceeded to pour the remainder on my arm. I felt no different and again questioned whether the stick was really necessary.

I got my answer when he set a solid silver sheet over the top of it and began hammering it around my arm's shape. With his fist. The clammering echoed through the temple, and it wasn't long before I actually bit through the stick. Fortunately, that was also when he had finished with the sheet. He left it over my arm and called for the busty priestess, Rao, who gave me an uneasy smile.

Then, she called forth flame from one hand, and I quickly placed what remained of the wooden stick in my mouth.

She then proceeded to heat the silver to what I guessed was a low broil, and though it was only for a few moments, I imagined this was what the hot meals mother would make in the winter felt like.

Then, when the metal had constricted my arm further, Rao gave me a pat on the head, and returned to her duties. The orc, meanwhile, poured ice over the silver sheet, while I wondered what in Zeus' name was going on.

When that was done, he removed the silver sheet from my arm, where in addition to the broken bones, I now had painful burns as well. Finally, the orc held his palms over my arm, which proceeded to glow. At last, I felt the euphoric side effects of such a healing spell again, and I didn't even mind so much when I felt the breaks in my bone press together like they were magnetic. I know full well it was extraordinarily painful, but I didn't mind then. I was more bothered by what happened before.

I will never again admit this, and even now as I type it suspect it's the wine talking, but I did groan in discomfort through the ordeal. You would too.

The healed arm felt alien to me, for I'd become accustomed to the dull ache, and before that, fierce pain. It almost felt like I had no arm to speak of, and I was grateful to the Orc.

So, of course I had to ask what in the name of Apollo he was doing to me.

After shaking off his confusion (if I used the name of any of the worshipped here in vain, I'd have been kicked out and fined), he responded.

"It was to ward off infection. The silver helps prevent lycanthropy, the holy water Sanguinaire Vampiris, and the heat helps ward off evil spirits."

"It was a waste of time," I said.

"It was for your good health. It was not a waste of time."

I angrily held up the slate I'd dragged with me for so long.

"I was beset upon by the draugr, bandits, and spiders, not werewolves and vampires."

"Oh," he said. The Orc was silent for a moment. "Well, then I guess it _was_ a waste of time."

I think my jaw dropped at that. He warned me not to catch flies, then dismissed me, and I uttered a low thank you (he at least did a good job) before leaving the temple. Again.

The skies had opened up in the time I'd been in the temple. A light rain began to fall, but judging by the look of the clouds, I wondered if we were due a downpour. I kept the tablet over my head while I walked to the palace, and I welcomed myself inside.

The Jarl was not at his throne, but the hall was bustling otherwise. I could smell smoked ham, though none of the stuff was present. Supper must have just passed.

It felt as though it had been eons since I'd seen the inside of the palace, and having seen it again, I had to say...

I hated it. It was too large, which meant the building itself had a draft, and the large fire in the center of the main hall, though warm, was not reaching all the corners. You could be one step away from a blast of cold air. Plus, the air reeked of potpourri. They were probably trying to cover up the stench of mildew. The place was so big I figured the original owner was trying to compensate for something.

Krosis. It had to be said.

When I finally found the Court Wizard, he was standing at a table with a cloaked figure before him. They were speaking to each other within hushed whispers, as if only they and the table were privy to their conversation. When he saw me approach, he stopped whatever he'd been saying mid sentence. For a few moments he stared at me with his jaw slightly agape, as if trying to recall who I was.

Why do people always do that? Am I really that forgettable? I once collected a bounty from a Jarl that forgot who I was. He personally assigned it to me.

It finally clicked when I held up the stone tablet, and gave it a gentle shake back and forth.

"Ah! The dragonstone! Well done! Well done, indeed. It did take you a while, though. What were you doing? Rebuilding the tomb?"

When she heard "dragonstone," the Wizard's mysterious guest began to listen.

"Wait, Bleak Falls Barrow? You went into that tomb and found the tablet? On your own? Nice work."

I said nothing.

"Farengar!"

Instantly, the Court Wizard and his guest dropped to a knee. Again, I remained standing. The Jarl didn't even enter the room anyway. All he did was poke his head in the door.

"Give our guest one of your spell tomes as thanks. I do mean one of the good ones too."

I looked back at the Wizard, who was unmoved.

"Keep," I simply said. His eyebrows grew higher, and I gave the shake of my head. "I cannot read."

From the other room I heard the Jarl again.

"Then we will talk of a more proper reward for you later. In the meantime, however, I have need of you again."

I fought myself, and managed to leave the room to meet the Jarl again. I just wanted to meet up with Mother already so we could continue to Hammerfell.

For whatever reason, he had to be in a sitting position to break the news to me- whatever it was.

"In your travels, I assume you've seen the Western Watchtower? If you went the traditional route to and from Riverwood, you surely must have at least glimpsed it."

I did recall seeing a large tower overlooking the plains. There were many barricades around it and archers stood atop it. I curtly nodded, and the Jarl leaned towards me. He beckoned for me to do the same, as if we were discussing a rumor. I did not move.

"I'm doing my best to keep this under wraps, but there has been another dragon attack."

My eyebrows rose.

"The Watchtower was the target. I don't know how many were lost, but I need you to go with a small patrol to check on them."

I shook my head.

"Please. You will be doing a great service for Whiterun."

"Will be?" I echoed. He sighed breathily.

"Very well, as you have been. You're the only one here who has dealt with a dragon before now. My hope is you can tell us where it may have come from, or at the very least, tell us if it looked like the one in Helgen. This is all assuming it is even there still. You may not have to do anything."

I sighed through my nostrils.

"I'll get you a new bow. A better one. Just name the price and it's done."

I looked over my shoulder slowly, then back at him. I couldn't believe I was doing this.

"Fine."

The Jarl seemed to celebrate with all of his body.

"You are a true friend of Whiterun, Mia Tuk! I won't forget this. I have a small detachment of guards waiting for you by the gates with Irileth. You remember her, right? Dark Elf with a darker blade?"

I didn't respond more than with a small nod, then turned away. Before I was out of earshot, though:

"The bow better be worth it. I didn't escape a dragon once to be eaten at a reunion."

Before he could respond, I was walking to the door in rapid form. I had to get out before someone else asked me a favor or took advantage of my darling good nature.

I didn't stop to give the time of day, much less a hello or a nod to anyone. Mother did like when I managed to help others, but this was getting to be too much. I could barely help myself, let alone others at times.

When I found the dunmer woman, she was in the midst of giving an impassioned speech to her comrades, which all appeared unremarkable to me. There were six, minus the dunmer and myself- two archers, two mages, and two swordsmen. The Jarl was probably trying to see which attacks were the most effective. From what I witnessed at Helgen, however, I wondered if any attack would be effective.

I just had to hope we didn't meet the dragon again. I would be willing to forgive everything I'd until then gone through if I went there, it turned out to be nothing, and I came back to receive a gorgeous bow.

I was pulled from my thoughts once more by an uproarious cheer. Instantly I put a hand to my blade and brought my shield up. I was shot a few looks, but otherwise ignored.

"Going in alive," the Dunmer declared.

"Coming out the same way," declared her party.

They began to charge for the tower, which even from Whiterun, was readily visible to us. We took a light jog to the tower in silence. The rain, however, seemed to be in league with the dragon. With every step that brought us closer to the tower, the rain began to pour harder. We were all long since soaked. By the time that we were within reach of the tower, it was falling in such ferocity that I wondered if I should have requested an ark instead of a bow.

Lightning began to dance through the sky. The explosion of thunder that followed was varied. Sometimes it would be deafening; others it would be suppressed by the downpour. We'd never seen such rain in Cheydinhal before.

The tower was seemingly damaged, though I could not tell at then if it was due to age, the dragon, or the storm. There were bodies lying about outside, but little blood. Most of it had been washed away by the rain.

"Eyes up," shouted the Dunmer, Irileth. Her voice carried on the wind, but just barely. It was as if she were miles away. "Check the casualties. If anyone is alive, get them into the tower!"

The men began to split up to investigate, myself included. Of the three I examined, however, none had survived. One was quite literally torn limb from limb, and another had what appeared to be teeth marks in the torso. Its face was distorted into nothing but horror. The third was so badly disfigured that I could not make out if it was once a male or a female.

Though I'd at this point been no stranger to death, I'd never seen the types of injuries I saw then before. I flashed back to the catacombs of Helgen; the chorus of moans from the starving prisoners. I've suffered nightmares on and off since that day.

In a fluid motion I drew my bow and nocked an arrow, before aiming straight for the entrance to the tower. I could see inside thanks to the torches they had within. There were a few bodies within that were moving around, and one guard beckoning us towards him from the doorway. He did not appear to be injured, though he did seem to be shivering.

"Soldier!" shouted Irileth. "What in Oblivion happened here? Are the reports true? A dragon?"

The soldier, I then noticed, was breathing heavily, like he'd just run a marathon. I did not lower my bow.

"You," he rasped. I could hardly make out his speech through the storm. "You all must come in! The beast... it cut our numbers in half last time it was here."

Though he was wearing his armor and had not removed his helmet, I could tell he was paling underneath. He pointed a quivering finger out the door behind us.

"Kynareth save us. Here he comes again!"

The door slammed shut. I turned around with the others and looked up.

A dragon was hovering above us. For a moment, all we could hear was the sound of the storm. Lightning flashed once more, and I could feel the beast grin a toothy grin.

It Spoke.

End of Chapter

* * *

 **3,257 words.**

 **Here he comes again, when he's flying neath the stormy skies...**

 **Who sings My Best Friend's Girl? The Cars? I'm pretty sure it's The Cars.**

 **So, yeah. This chapter has confirmed it: We have managed to make it one whole chapter without Mia Tuk losing consciousness. I wonder if I can get another one in there like that? That'd be new and refreshing.**

 **Next chapter covers the fight with, uhh... I'm sorry, I'm going to butcher this: Mirmulnir? Mirmirnur? Mulmirnir? Senior Pantalones De Fuego?**

 **You know, that one.**


	15. The Second Horseman Cometh

**Chapter 15**

 **The Second Horseman Cometh**

* * *

 **"I am become death, the destroyer of worlds."**

 **-J. Robert Oppenheimer**

* * *

The Voice is hell on the ears, especially when directed at you in particular. When the beast Spoke to us, I found myself in the tomb again, losing my hearing and nearly being killed. I was fortunate, however, that on this occasion the beast did not speak directly at me. My hearing was spared the brunt of its wrath. That time.

I do not recall just what he said, as I rarely do when attacked by the dragons. All I can be certain of is the fact that we all scattered, and not a moment too soon- what words the dragon spoke seemed to have a bearing on the weather, for the water began to fall in such quantity as to drown us if we were not careful. Visibility was severely diminished, the mages could not risk the use of lightning attacks for fear of harming themselves and the others, and even my arrows began to get bogged down in the downpour. Lightning began to strike the ground we'd been standing on, and it carried a few men to their deaths.

Through the heavy rain I was able to make out the convulsing of a few as they were stricken, and then flung ten meters in a random direction. None of those struck stood again, though only one ended up smoking after the strikes subsided.

I noted the dragon seeming to pant, though it had done nothing other than hover and admire the destruction it was sowing. The rainfall and lightning then began to diminish in rapid form. I was fortunate to have escaped injury this time. The men the lightning had struck were all wearing metal armor. I was wearing the same armor I had in the tomb, though I had forgotten to have it repaired. It wouldn't do much to protect me in its compromised state, but it was better than nothing.

I shook my head and held back a curse. By remaining in thought as I did, I missed my chance to attack. The dragon had been flying, but not Speaking or launching any further attacks of yet. In its lull in aggression the archers and mages managed to deliver a few blows.

The good news was, it was focused on them more so than me. For fear of another attack through nature, I retreated to the door of the tower, where I nocked an arrow and took aim for its eye- it had been fairly close and was hovering. I could not have asked for a better shot.

So, of course I missed. The arrow caught it in the neck, but rather than cause distraction or injury, all it did was bounce off the thick hide.

It was then that the dragon noticed me, and I saw the gleam in its eye. Instantly I dropped my bow and hid behind my shield.

I was buffeted by cold. It became hard to breathe, and my shield arm was going numb and burning at the same time. I could feel frost settle in my hair and my movements became sluggish. With the degree I'd been soaked, I was instantly hypothermic.

The dragon must have thought I was out of commission, because it then turned its attention away from me again. I spared a look over my shoulder at one of the men taking refuge in the tower. His lips were blue, and he was completely naked.

"Don't judge me, stranger. I hear doing this can save your life."

Even so, I wasn't about to strip as well. I needed my armor if I wanted to have a chance of surviving.

"Start a fire," I commanded of him. He seemed about to protest, but saw the sense in my demand and quickly went about doing so. I spared a look outside again.

The dragon wasn't in the air any longer. It had landed and resorted to attempting to bite a few men in half. I retrieved my bow and nocked an arrow, though due to my shivering, my aim and strength were compromised. I loosed the arrow, and by dumb luck managed to save the life of one man who the creature had taken a vested interest in. My arrow lodged itself in a small wound on its side that had been made by Irileth, and it leapt into the air again.

In spite of our recent apparent breakthroughs, however, we were making little progress. The worst injury had been the one Irileth inflicted and I had aggravated. Meanwhile, our people were still being assaulted, and it didn't even seem like the beast was particularly concerned with us. Was it toying with us?

Again, it shot its head in my direction, and I took cover in case it chose to attack. It must have considered my tactic cowardly. No such attack occured.

I could see that the naked man had finally ignited a fire, and I approached it to get a little feeling back. The battle was just going to have to do without me for now.

I was shivering more than I'd ever done so before, and the naked man was draping what I assumed were his clothes near the flames. He would not stop shooting me glares while I warmed myself, and I didn't blame him. While I was warming myself so I may better fight, the screams outside were fierce and I could hear the beast Speak periodically. Here I was, mostly healthy other than being cold and I was sitting out the fight.

He wouldn't say a word though, but I still hated sitting the fight out when I'd agreed to help, so I left the fire after I got a little feeling back, though I knew I would still be in danger of hypothermia anyway.

Once more I nocked an arrow, and I peeked out through the doorway, half expecting the creature's maw to meet me and end my journey.

It was hovering again, and it seemed to be panting more, but its injuries were still negligable. Meanwhile, our numbers had been reduced further. We were down to just three- myself, Irileth, and a mage. The rest were either dead or dying.

The beast grinned evilly. "Wah dinok, kirr. To death."

Once again I had its eye as my target, and this time my aim was true. The arrow lodged itself in its eye, and it let out a screech of absolute agony. Its wings missed a beat and it fell to the dirt, where it was beset upon by Irileth and the mage (he told me his name later, but I forgot).

I watched the two trying to end the battle, but it seemed like its hide was thickest around its throat and heart. Still, I credit their attacks to greatly weakening the thickness of its hide. Whenever it tried to get airborne again, Irileth aggravated the arrow I'd fired.

It continuously flapped its wings, and my eyes at the time were very sharp. I saw the smallest tear in one wing, and instantly I had an idea of what to do.

A strong gust of wind sent cold rain into the tower, drenching me further, and again I felt my aim leave me as I shivered. Still, the wings were large targets for me. I loosed an arrow at the membrane making up the creature's flight and earned a through and through.

Still, the creature finally managed to knock the mage and Irileth away and it leapt into the air. Its flight was not hindered by the wounds its wings received, and this time, it eyed me. I steeled myself, and saw the glint of its eye again.

I dropped my bow and held forth my shield once more.

This time, however, it did not Speak. I cautiously poked my head over the shield.

I was face to face with the beast.

"What do you hide for, joor? Join the fray," he roared. Before I could react, it chomped down on my shield arm, and yanked me from the tower. It shook me as if I were prey, but my shield was preventing it from completely mauling my arm. To my great surprise it would be the least serious of my injuries by the end of this fight.

When my vision had finally settled, I at last realized I was in the air. My arm was still trapped, and the creature seemed to be trying to move my shield out of the way so it could amputate my arm, or throw me. It must have gotten stuck between its teeth.

Meanwhile, the mage below us launched a powerful fireball at the beast, though it went wide. It managed to distract the monster long enough for me to draw the knife I'd looted from the draugr I nearly lost my life to.

To my surprise and delight, it was able to cut through the dragon's thick hide- I buried the blade in its neck, and in pain, it screeched again. My arm was freed. I tried to hang on to the dragon by using the blade as a climber's axe, but it came free of the scales, and I found myself falling.

The heavy rains had softened the earth enough that the fall did not kill me, though I fractured my shin, dislocated my shield arm's shoulder, broke a rib, and I was left with a nasty concussion.

I felt my energy leave me and at the moment, I felt as though I were dying. I shut my eyes, though I did not lose consciousness right away. Perhaps I was building up an immunity.

The dragon must have thought me dead, because it left me alone once more. Irileth managed to reach me, and turned me onto my back. I opened my eyes again.

"You're going to be fine," she said. "We'll take it from here."

I didn't take her at her word, though. For a fleeting moment I recall wondering what she was talking about. I felt very sleepy, and I shut my eyes again, though the cold and rain were not letting me sleep.

When I next opened my eyes, I was in the tower again. The man who started the fire was clothed again, and I wondered if the battle was over for a moment.

Then I heard another screech, though it sounded raspy and weak. I do not know how long my eyes were shut for, but I do know that when I next opened them, my head was pounding and I felt terribly nauseous.

I turned my head to the door, where I saw the creature _still_ battling, though its wounds were becoming more numerous. The worst injury I think it had was the one I inflicted on its throat.

I studied the battle more, and I began to notice something: the dragon wasn't Speaking anymore. It seemed to have been resorting to tooth and claw to engage the two. Had I muted the creature?

It appeared I did not. The beast was still able to mock, but the volume its voice required to conjure its power was compromised. Its words were now only in a low utterance.

I found myself rolling to my side, and I stood, though the room was positively spinning and I could not see straight. I steeled myself with a deep breath, and began to walk for the door. My knife was embedded in the mud- it had stopped raining sometime between my fall and my entry back into the fray.

My fractured leg screamed with each step I took, but I like to think I did my Spartan brethren proud by ignoring the injury in favor of the battle. Indeed, the man in the tower was stunned speechless by my apparent recovery, and Irileth herself eyed me in shock. The mage was busying himself with the creature at the time.

I trudged towards my knife, fell to my knees, and I pulled it from the mud, at which point I vomited. My shin was killing me, and my shoulder was still dislocated- I bit down on the hilt of my knife when my vomiting ceased, and I reset my shoulder with a pop, and blossoming of explosive pain.

The dragon noticed me once more, and as if sensing my pain, it seemed to delight. Suddenly it had strength to spare, and it knocked the mage and Irileth away once more.

It flew low, as if it wished to take my head off with the pass of its wing. I ducked in the first instance, causing my already pouding head to scream once more. I stumbled to the ground again, and spit the knife to the mud.

My foggy mind remembered my initial plan, which was to continue loosing arrows at the dragon's wings until it was no longer able to fly, and I grabbed my knife once more. What I had planned would only work if it flew low again, which it seemed to be doing.

"Sovngarde saraan," it said in its raspy voice. I felt pride in myself at any rate for the damage I'd done. Once booming and strong, the voice of the beast was now little more than that of someone with a cold.

I took upon myself the practiced stance of my brethren, and I emulated the phalanx that day- I planted my feet firm and ducked under the passing creature, but not before stabbing upwards at the weaker membrane of its wing. When I had contact, I did my best to keep the knife in my hands, though it strained my muscles greatly and taxed my weakened body further.

I found myself being dragged backwards through the mud, but my stance combined with the slower speed of the beast allowed me to remain.

The dragon's screech did not carry well, but when it finally managed to send me to my rear while it passed, I knew I'd done what I needed to do. I turned to watch, and as I had hoped, there was a large tear in the wing I had molested.

The dragon's flight only aggravated the tear and made it wider, and the creature spun once. It crash landed just shy of the tower.

The dragon was stilled for just a moment, but began to writhe around on the ground. I trudged towards the beast, as did the mage and Irileth.

"This cannot be. Foolish Mirmulnir, gemah naal daar kiir?" I heard it whisper.

Irileth handed me her blade. "You deserve the honors. Put it out of its misery."

I came around the side of the beast, and I met its good eye with my own. I had no words for it, but we stared each other down for what felt like an eternity. I traced along some of the damaged scales of the creature around the back of its skull. Its skull was weakest in the back- I just knew it, though I did not know why I knew.

"What?" it gasped, as if in disbelief. I did not respond to it, for fear of trickery, and I stabbed through the back of its skull repeatedly- though its scales were weakened by the fight and its bone was weakest behind its head, it still took several powerful strikes to get through.

Though the creature was mortally wounded, its head shot up- I lost grip on the blade and it remained embedded in the dying beast's head.

It found its voice again, and screamed louder than it had since I wounded its throat.

 _"Dovahkiin, no!"_

I leapt backward, earning a jolt of pain from my wounded leg. That word. I'd heard it in my hallucinations before, but I did not know what it meant. Was it a curse?

I saw the dragon breathe its last, and its head settled to the dirt again. I stepped forward cautiously, and I pulled the blade from its head again, but not before retching once more. My nausea had returned.

Then, I noticed something about the wounds it received: they'd all begun glowing orange, and I could feel a strong heat coming from the body of the felled creature. This was not the dragon that destroyed Helgen- it wasn't black, and it lacked the aura that outlined that mighty creature's body.

Its scales began to char, and the glow was beginning to overtake the remainder of its stilled form.

I looked above it, and saw what I could only describe as the aura of the dragon, or some sort of cloud. It was transparent, and seemed to be glowing orange as well.

All at once the strange cloud found itself attracted to my person, and instantly I put my shield up for fear of attack.

The cloud began to form tendrils which simply went around my defense, and I felt hot- whatever was occurring was actually drying my clothing. I was lifted off my feet, and as more of the cloud rushed into me, I felt my energy return, my nausea subside, my fracture repair itself- my wounds were gone, and I felt an energy building within me that I felt only a few times in my life, though never at this level before.

Visions of flight and conquest rushed through my head, and I found my mind settled on the cursed wall that seemed to knock me out before my fight with the draugr that nearly killed me. I recalled my dream of the large dragon that spoke to me with a gentle voice, and I recalled its last statement to me.

 _Krif voth ahkrin, krif voth..._

"Fus!" I shouted, and I felt as though some of my energy was spent, though it would return with time. My throat felt a bit dry, yet I thirsted for more of this essence.

All that remained of the dragon was a skeleton.

"Dragonborn," gasped the mage. Irileth rushed to retrieve her blade, and also to assist me in standing, though I did not need help any longer. I would see the healer anyway to err on the side of caution.

"You're..." gasped the mage once more. I looked towards him finally. He was as pale as a ghost.

"Dragonborn," he repeated.

I stared blankly.

"Your voice. You Spoke- you shouted."

I blinked, and looked over my shoulder at the skeleton- still smoking.

"Don't you know? The Dragonborn is a legendary dragon slayer. It is a title not seen for generations. Irileth, tell him."

The dunmer shook her head as if to clear it. "Enough. What I see is a dead dragon, and that speaks to me, for it means we can kill them. If you choose to believe that Dragonborn hokum, that's your business. I don't know what I just saw, but I do know that we owe our Jarl a report."

Irileth held out her sheathed blade to me.

"You have proven yourself a capable warrior in archery, and I spied your stance while you executed the coup de grâce- the stance of a practiced soldier, I must say. I will have you keep that blade. It saw me through many battles, and I feel it will serve you well, too."

I stared at the weapon for a moment. It was a fine blade of the elven race- brass colored and light, but potent and more than a match to the legendary blades of the Imperial Legion. Its hilt was gorgeous, and I accepted the gift with gratitude.

The earth then shook, and I instinctively drew the blade, while Irileth took a defensive stance and the mage prepared himself for another battle. My eyes shot to the skeleton behind me, but it remained motionless.

The Word echoed from the mountains as if it were an explosion.

 _"Dovahkiin!"_

End of Chapter

* * *

 **3,295 words.**

 **How did you guys figure out Mia Tuk was Dragonborn? I can't keep anything from you!**

 **What? The word appeared several times throughout the story? Pics or it didn't happen.**

 **Ah. Okay, I believe you.**

 **Initially I was going to try and keep it under wraps that he was the Dragonborn, but I scrapped the idea because that outline of the story was not pretty.**

 **Anyway, that was Mirmirmir. Next chapter covers reporting to the Jarl, and who called for Mia Tuk at the end there (it was obviously Jonathan Drubner), and that's the last of Act I, and not a moment to soon, considering the holidays are coming and I'm going to be busy.**


	16. A Draconic Thane

**Chapter 16**

 **A Draconic Thane**

* * *

 **"The fastest way to find your sergeant is to go to sleep."**

 **-Anonymous**

* * *

I am but a shell.

The boy I was under Tabrodite's care was long gone. He vanished long before he fell his first dragon. The innocence he had as a child, though it was limited, was no more. He was long gone by this point.

At least, that is what I told myself.

I am told by many that I am of heroic blood, for I am dragonborn, but I do not understand the reasoning. Plenty of doctors and researchers have done studies on my blood, and it truly is the very same that runs through the veins of dragons.

In other words, it is the very same all prefer to see spilling from mortal wounds on the foul creature of the sky.

So what makes me different? I kill dragons, but they kill each other too. I sometimes suspect there are a few that have killed more of their own than humans.

I do not like the title. If anything I strongly dislike it. All I wanted was to rendevous with mother and escape, yet here I was being hailed a Hero of Whiterun- specifically, a Thane.

Bah.

I suppose it was amusing in a way. Every time so far that I've stood before the Jarl of Whiterun, I did just that- stood. Now, here he was. Jarl Balgruuf himself, and he was kneeling before me, as if _I_ were royalty.

I did not ask him to do so, though it was appreciated by a part of me. The court was watching the proceedings in silence.

"You have proven your loyalty to the Empire, and are from this day forward a Thane of Whiterun."

I was mentally laughing. I escaped the Empire and killed at least 7 or 8 of their warriors. I even uttered a curse upon the town of Helgen when I was to be executed.

I stopped paying attention suddenly. If I recall right, my curse was placed just moments before the black beast began its assault on the town. Had I brought chaos upon the people?

I hoped not. I uttered that phrase in anger, for I'd been resigned to my death.

"Have you any words for the Jarl's gratuity?"

I shook out of my thoughts. Irileth stood beside the Jarl (who too was standing once more) looking somewhat impatient. I simply shook my head. Like clockwork, Jarl Balgruuf held forth a new bow, as was promised to me.

"I present a weapon more befitting a Thane than what you carry now. Congratulations."

The bow I earned that day was gorgeous. It was the color of a harp, and as soon as I gripped it I knew that it would be far more accurate. I later took a few practice shots with it, and I was so used to compensating for my current bow's disrepair that I was initially very inaccurate.

I felt spoiled. A new blade, and a new bow. I at then forgave the Jarl for the chores he made me to do. I am not a cheap date.

I was told that my title of Thane meant I was due a housecarl, or bodyguard. Of course, being me, I wasn't really paying attention at the time. It had been made clear by then that the voice I heard after we slayed the beast at the watchtower was one of the Greybeards, a well respected yet secluded gathering of monks who were well practiced in dragon tongue, or whatever it was I'd accidentally uttered.

I was also told that being summoned was a huge honor, and I would be spitting in the faces of not just the Greybeards, but the Nordic people themselves if I did not answer.

I was still in a good mood for the spoils of my latest escapades, and was to go see them once I got some rest. I didn't leave, however, until I reminded the Jarl to keep an eye out for my mother, and inform her of my whereabouts should she get here while I was gone. I was still not very worried about her, considering the small eternity it often took her to ready herself for a trip down the road, much less across a border.

I did not leave again until the night of the next day. I spent the time between at the well known inn of Whiterun, the Bannered Mare- the Jarl had pulled some strings to allow me a bit of time to rest there.

Things had been looking up for me.

I just knew that was going to be changing very soon.

 **End of Act I**

* * *

 **809 words. I know, I suck. In my defense I was moving, though. And then also work.**

 **So, that's the first act, so to speak. Next one is going to be Chapters 17-30 or so, and it will see our entry into the College of Winterhold arc of the story.**

 **"But wait a minute, Chuck! Chuck! CHUUUUCK! I thought Mia Tuk didn't know how to use magic!"**

 **That's right, he doesn't. And that, I think (hope) is going to make this turn out very interestingly. But first, Greybeards. And some scotch.**


	17. A Resting Dragon

**In loving memory of Stacey and Kevin.**

 **ACT II**

 **Chapter 17**

 **A Resting Dragon**

* * *

 **"You be good. See you tomorrow. I love you."**

 **-Alex the parrot's last words**

* * *

The most difficult thing about being of a dragon's blood awakened is attempting to rest.

It was a strange, somewhat dry joke that I'd taken to uttering upon those who asked me of my blood when I happened to be in a good mood:

"Mia Tuk, what's the toughest part?"

"Resting."

Admittedly, it was not really a false statement. I'd always had some degree of insomnia, even before I found myself here. I'd simply taken it as a discipline I learned through years of training.

That's not to say mother would not allow me rest. Training under her was, after all, at _my_ wish.

Even when I do manage to sleep, and there have been times where I've slept entire days away, my dreams are not refreshing. Ever since I killed the Elf guard that groped mother, I have suffered night terrors. They eventually got so bad that I began sleeping with the dagger I found on that draugr under my pillow.

A few nights saw me shoot out of bed with my dagger clutched tight in my hand, but those are demons I'll spare the reader.

The point is, if I don't get a proper amount of rest, I get irritable. I'm not exactly a saint on a good day, but on a sleep deprived day I'm told I could make Molag Bal blush.

I recall the dream my first night as a Thane vividly, for my draconic companion had made another rare appearance.

I growled when I saw him. He was wearing the same look of admiration, or kindness that I had seen previously.

Let's just say I didn't share his excitement.

"Pale beast," I bellowed. "Why must you torment me so?"

The creature tilted its head, as if it did not understand my trepidation.

Then, it Spoke again:

 _"Nid arx."_

On this occasion, I was not so stunned that I couldn't answer back in my own fashion. I nocked an arrow- I recall having my weaponry.

"It's a bad night, beast. For me and you."

I saw some hurt in its eyes, as if my words wounded the creature. Still, though, it made no move against me. Instead, it Spoke again, gently this time:

 _"Kos ahst drem, Dovahkiin. Zu'u seik nid arx."_

Though I did not want to do this, I felt my arms grow lax, and the arrow that I had aiming for an eye was returned to my quiver. I growled again.

The nerve of this beast. It continuously haunted my dreams since I first arrived here at this strange place, and the words it Spoke to me were not of any language I knew, or should have known.

So, why was it that he seemed to have such control over my dreamscape? This was impossible, or it should have been. Gods have control over the dreams of the mortals, or so some belief systems will have you think.

Still, I was not happy to be trifled with, and still have little tolerance for such endeavors. I drew my bow and nocked an arrow once more, and I stared the beast down.

"Retreat from my presence, or I will not be held accountable for my actions."

The great beast tilted its head slightly again, but did not respond. For the first time in what felt like eons, I screamed.

"Answer me!"

My bow and arrows both vanished from my grip without a trace, and when I looked to my hip for my blade, I found that it was absent as well. I growled louder, and my eyes wandered to my shield. It too was gone, and I felt a pang of great shame. I had done the one thing I was never meant to do, and that was lose my shield. I would bring great shame to my ancestors, though this was but a dream.

I hated this creature and we engaged in a stare down of sorts. Neither of us said a word to the other for the longest time, and I recall what must have been seasons passing as we eyed each other. Just why was this beast haunting me so? Due to my dragon blood being recently awoken? Perhaps, but why me? I never asked for this. I certainly had no desire to see myself a hero of any land but my own. The only way that would ever happen would be for me to die on the field of battle, and that was quite impossible, considering I'd died as a babe.

The dragon nudged against me gently with its massive head, and I continued to see no sign of malevolence in its eyes. I felt myself at last being removed from the dream I was trapped in. The light came down around me and I found myself slowly floating upwards, as if I'd just passed away again. For a brief fleeting moment I recall fearing that had happened indeed, but I was wrong in that sense. What a pain this was becoming.

 _"Ni nu. Ni dovah ganog."_

Even my dreams were no reprieve it seemed. Or, as the wise man once said, there is no rest for the weary. I growled once more to him. He eyed me with good nature.

 _"Pogaas zii, pogaas dovah."_

I felt myself shoot up in the bed, and for another moment I wondered if everything I had done and seen so far was just a dream, or at least up to the event with the draugr. Was I just awakening from the great sleep that creature put me into?

The fact that my entire body was not screaming at me in enormous pain told me otherwise. All I knew now was I was the Dragonborn, and I was being summoned to the largest mountain I had ever seen in my life to meet with a group of isolationist pacifists that called themselves the Greybeards.

I wondered what time it was, and knew not yet how long I'd even been asleep for. I lay back in my rented bed with a grunt, and I felt myself jolt when I heard a glass shatter in the bar downstairs.

I ended up laying awake for the rest of the night to my great chagrin. One more night with no rest for Mia Tuk. I left the inn with the foulest mood I'd been in since I first arrived in Skyrim, and I hadn't been the most positive person in the world since I got here.

When I left, I simply walked out the door. I did not stop for food- I planned to hunt my own meal because I felt I could use the practice. It would do me well if I were to hunt for my own meals continuously, wouldn't it?

I heard the distant roar of another of the winged beasts, and I groped for my blade's hilt. Though the sound came from the very horizon, I did not surrender my grip on the weapon until I was clear of Whiterun.

It probably delivered the wrong feeling to the man that owned the horse stables when I stared at him with a hand on my blade. He was trying to sell me a horse, though. I never did like salespeople.

I recall that he kept talking to me even as I ignroed him and continued walking past. If anything I just picked up my pace and I said nothing to him. At least the weather was nice today. No rain or dragons or draugr to ruin the day and/or my health.

I dare not say that aloud though. I did not want to accidentally curse myself to an eternity of torment with the bastards.

On the plus side, though, they would not be the source of what grief would plague me next.

I was fortunate. There was a carriage on the road waiting for any passengers. With my meager sum of gold, however, I wondered if I may have to stow away should the carriage driver be carrying any luggage. I would have to ask what the rates were. The destination I had to reach, Ivarstead, was around the side of the large mountain of Skyrim, the Throat of the World. To walk there would take me a few days, and I did not have the means to camp- I had no tent or an axe, and though mother had taught me to start fires without magic and build small lean-to shelters, I did not wish to camp on the road or anywhere near it alone.

The road that links Whiterun to Ivarstead is known as the Bataan. Most people refer to travelling it, however, as the Bataan Death March. A lone traveller risks his life on any road, but to walk Bataan alone is a real danger. There are too many areas for bandits and creatures to set up an ambush. It's possible to walk the road alone, but nobody does so unless all other options are exhausted.

Hence my approaching the woman upon the carriage and clearing my throat.

"I fancy someone in Windhelm," she said dismissively.

I blinked. "Congratulations. How much will you charge to take me to Ivarstead?"

She glanced at me, then out at the road, as if she expected the someone from Windhelm to come sweep her off her feet.

"I need to stop there anyway. 15 gold."

I reached into my coin purse, but I only had 13 coins on me. I looked at her, and she sighed through her nostrils.

"13 coins, and you don't eat."

I gave a nod, and dropped the coins into her waiting hand.

"Climb in back, and we'll be off."

We arrived at Ivarstead in very good time, though we did end up taking a few shots from some bandits.

Though I was certain I could take the archers (they were horrendous shots; of forty arrows loosed they only managed two hits, both of which hit areas of the carriage far from the driver or I). The carriage driver (whose name escapes me) warned me that if I returned fire, they would follow us to Oblivion and back, and she would kick me off the carriage and leave me to my fate.

Though I was not happy with being shot at, I obeyed with a grumble. I did not, however, stop myself from giving the terrible archers the middle finger while we passed. They did not seem to understand. Where I'm from, the gesture is a grave insult. It never took here.

There was, however, one bandit we ran into on the road around an hour into the trip. By then we had not yet gotten to Bataan.

As for Bataan itself, it seemed the divines felt it right to smile down on us, for we ran into little violence other than the terrible archers, a mad wolf, and a necromancer that seemed as disinterested in fighting as we both were- we simply stared at each other while we passed.

It was an oddly peaceful ride for the road. I found myself praying in the back of the carriage that I would find another good soul willing to return me to Whiterun at the end of my business with the Greybeards.

When we arrived at Ivarstead, it was nine in the evening. I was fortunate to get a room at the inn- I had found 11 gold coins on the bandit we ran into.

Yes, I mean we actually ran him over.

The next day would see my braving the 7,000 steps, and meeting the Greybeards. I would see what they could do for me about this dragonborn business.

That night, my dreams were restful. It truly was the calm before the storm.

 **End of Chapter**

* * *

 **1,975 words.**

 **Here we are again, two funerals later. I'm done with this year.**

 **Someone mentioned something about olympic medals in the reviews, and as far as I remember I do not recall Mia Tuk describing medals in the story. I think you're referring to the quote from Fidel Castro. Do not think of that as canon to the story so much as having some sort of relation to what the chapter in general is to focus on.**

 **Next chapter ought to come up quicker. I do not think it will be incredibly long but I've been wrong before. It's going to cover the 7,000 steps and talking to the Greybeards. I think that's it, though.**

 **One more thing: Don't dismiss the dangers of the Bataan road just yet. We're going to get into that very soon, scout's honor.**


	18. Mia Tuk Battles an Endless Staircase

**Chapter 18**

 **Mia Tuk Battles an Endless Staircase**

* * *

 **"It is not enough to stare up the steps, we must step up the stairs."**

 **-Vaclav Havel**

* * *

The sky was overcast when I left for the steps. I had passed them on the way into town but did not look at them. I did not wish to have them on the mind during my rest.

That night, my sleep was peaceful. I recall even having pleasant dreams that night of bonding with mother for the first time, hitting my first home run in stick ball, and the like.

I awoke well rested, but hungry. Fortunately for me, the room I rented came with a breakfast of eggs and cheese, as well as some orange juice. I cringed at the drink, though I drank it anyway. I never liked orange juice, but I knew that the climb was going to be thirsty work, never mind my hunger. The longer I could go without needing to turn to the snow for hydration, the better.

At least I did not need to worry over my armor or warm clothing- the Jarl saw fit to grant me my armor repaired, some fur clothing, bedding, and a bladder of water. I may have forgotten to mention that earlier.

Nothing for which to take shelter in the case of a storm, though. I decided to hope and pray to find a place to hide out if the weather took a turn for the worse, or if the trip cost me into the night.

When I crossed the bridge to the first steps, I was greeted by a bitter cold breeze. I growled, but did not turn away. I decided to keep an eye out for an animal I could skin for a makeshift scarf. The one I was granted was not providing complimentary protection from the cold, though the rest of my clothing did a well enough job.

The first steps were as I expected: very easy. It was little more than a hike on a trail. The steps were spread so far apart that one could mistaken them for simple rocks in the path without closer scrutiny. There was little in forms of life on the path, as I had expected, and initially the trip was little more than a winding trail slowly finding its way up the mountain known as the Throat of the World. For the first two hours, I did not find need to stop, though I did take a few swigs here and there from my bladder of water.

As I progressed, however, I did notice something: it was becoming harder to breathe. It was as if I could hardly catch my breath. I suspected I knew what it meant, though. When I would travel with mother to deliver her brews, I would on occasion need to join her on paths which took us over mountains. The higher we got, the thinner the air got. Mother's method of breathing properly was singing. She said it helped regulate air exchange, or some other such nonsense which flew over my head.

The alternative was to step and breathe, step and breathe, step and breathe, step and breathe. I wasn't and still am not much of a singer, so I chose to step and breathe.

My thoughts wandered back to her while I walked. When we had first met, it took me a while to so much as remain in a room with her. I'd never seen someone like her before I came to this strange place, after all.

She was a very busy woman when I first got here, though, and my distance went unnoticed for a time. Eventually, I did get used to being around her, of course, but it took a while. For a few months I would turn away from her in my bed so I would not have to look at her. My bed was against a wall opposite hers, and if I squeezed my eyes shut and remained still enough, I could pretend that I was home.

My first night with her saw me awaken the next morning with the belief that all I'd experienced was a dream. Think of it from my place: If all you had known was suddenly taken from you and you found yourself in a new land in an instant, wouldn't you consider it dream logic too?

She seemed to be very puzzled when she bid me good morning, and I simply stared at her in disbelief. I remember her asking if there was something stuck on her face.

I found myself smiling while I wandered up the path, and smiling is not something I tend to do very often- I didn't even do it for more than a moment or two at my wedding, let alone when my children were born.

The smile left my face fairly quickly when I looked down the path and saw Ivarstead what seemed to be just a stone's throw from me.

Sigh.

* * *

It took me eight hours to make any real progress. I'd finished my water and had resorted to filling the water bladder up with snow.

I did, however, manage to kill a rabbit, and I had myself a meal for the night. I put the rabbit's fur on my neck as a makeshift scarf. It wasn't very pretty, but it helped a bit. Shame I could not make earmuffs though.

I encountered many types of wildlife, though fewer birds as I scaled the mountain. I resolved eventually to set up camp in a small crevice, after I ensured it was clear of wildlife. I even ensured it was devoid of any recent tracks.

I set about starting a fire with some wood I'd collected during my hike thus far. My hope was for it and my lack of ability to sleep through so much as a ladybug passing gas to assist me were I to be attacked by a predator.

I bedded down that night with the hope of a good rest, though it would not be a particularly comfortable one. The heat from my fire did not serve to warm me as much as I had hoped it would, the thin air made breathing an uphill battle, and it also didn't help that the wolves were singing a choir.

Hours later, and I still was not asleep. The crackle of the fire was comforting, but everything else conspired against me. No rest for Mia Tuk. I kept my eyes squeezed shut with the hope that I would manage to trick my body into believing I was asleep, but I did not succeed. Once more my belly growled, and I sighed lowly before turning on my side.

I heard footsteps crunching the snow outside my shelter, and I slowly and reluctantly opened my eyes. Better to lose the battle for sleep than the one I suspected coming my way.

I lifted my head and looked out past the fire. My sight failed me beyond much more than a meter. The weather conditions were those of a white out. I was spared only because of the cave I hid myself in. The snow, though most of it was blowing down the path, had been showing some signs of building up before the entrance and exit of my cave.

I could swear I saw movement in the white. Slowly I sat up, my hand grasping the dagger I would come to know as "The Last Kiss." I made no additional movements, though. If I could avoid going into the blizzard, I would do so. There was an excellent chance whatever creature was out there either did not know I was here, was simply passing through, or was even a predator animal of some kind. Most predators in the mountains of Cyrodiil only enter dark caves if they are seeking a battle instead of prey, and they tend to do so instantly and with great aggression in an attempt to overwhelm their quarry. That I was currently not in a fight was a good sign.

Sure enough, the creature, whatever it was, moved along. My grip on the dagger loosened, and I lay back down again.

I'd actually managed to fall asleep, though it was for mere minutes. I was awoken once more by the crunching of snow, this time accompanied by low bellowing the likes of which I had never heard before. The sounds were not those of aggression, though. It seemed as though whatever form of night creature was out there was sniffing for something.

Again my hand found the dagger, and I sat up quietly. This time, when I looked out at the path, I could see a large white shape lumbering about. I mistook it for a bear covered in snow at first and feared it was looking for shelter.

When it got closer to what was left of my fire, though, I knew I was mistaken.

The beast was twice my size in all ways but thickness. It was covered with a thick scraggly fur, and I feared a possible werewolf for a moment. It had no tail, and though its legs were somewhat stubby, it demonstrated little trouble in leaping up and down in place and smacking the knee high snow with massive hands that may as well have been paws.

I could see a third crimson eye in the middle of its forehead, though the two eyes below seemed to be golden. I knew this creature to be a Frost Troll. Mother had told me many a story about these beasts. They are loud, stupid and smelly creatures with far too much strength and far too little mental capacity. They are aggressive on bad days and lazy on good days.

This one did not seem to see me. It was focused more on the embers that were the remains of my fire. It was eyeing them like it never saw such a thing before.

The stupid beast took a huge hand and poked at the embers, which, unsurprisingly, burned it. It growled out in pain and began to smack the fire into complete oblivion.

I had enough at that point, and slowly stood, gripping the dagger in one hand and retrieving my shield with another. Seeing that it still did not notice me, I opted to try and reach my sword too.

Big mistake.

Brittle rock cracked underfoot and instantly the beast was scanning my shelter for me. Apparently today was a bad day.

What else is new?

It spared me no time to prepare myself, and ran as quick as it could on its small legs, which was surprisingly fast. Instead of pounding me into the ground, it grabbed me by my arms and tossed me out of the cave and into the snow. I retained grip of my shield and dagger, thankfully, and the snow itself was thick enough to cushion my fall and afford me no injury.

I was on my feet at a moment's notice, and this time I had no intention of repeating my mistakes with the draugr. I brought my shield up as soon as I had eyes on the Troll again, and not a moment too soon.

It threw a large rock at me, which collided with my shield and sent a dull pain through my arm. Once again, though, I escaped serious injury.

"Stupid beast," I muttered. As if in response, it threw the pillow I was using at me.

I had to think of my options here. The beast was at the mouth of the cave, and if I attempted to enter again it would probably either beat me senseless, throw me again, kill and eat me, or all of the above. I could just leave and be on my way to find another shelter, but this troll had personally offended me by throwing me into the cold as it did.

It also didn't help matters when I saw the thing picking at one of its razor sharp teeth with my sword.

Oddly enough, it was no longer paying me much mind. It was almost satisfied with what it had done so far. Still, I knew a charge would do me no favors here, so I took the defensive again, and crept a few centimeters closer.

It brought its head down to look at me, and I froze in my tracks. It eyed me for a moment, and then lost interest and went back to wreaking havoc on my camp- it had tossed my sword aside like a useless piece of trash and was standing over my bedding.

I crept closer again, and once more it looked at me, prompting me to freeze. We continued playing this game for what must have been ten minutes before I had made it to the mouth of the cave.

That was when I noticed the sound of liquid rushing. I knew for a fact there was no running water in this cave- it only went around ten meters deeper into the mountainside.

The snow had not turned to rain, so that was out.

It was coming from the troll, and I for a moment stared at it in mute disbelief.

The troll was relieving itself on my bedding.

Needless to say, I saw red. In my fury I charged it, and it simply knocked me aside like I were a rag doll, exactly as I suspected would happen. Thankfully, it did not turn its attention back to me.

I stood again, and began creeping towards it once more, though I swear I was seething to the point that I feared melting the snow upon the Throat of the World.

For ten more minutes I slowly closed the distance. When I was within striking distance, I sliced at its legs in an attempt to prompt them to buckle. Sure enough, I opened two large gashes on them, and the troll fell to its knees. Before it could react beyond a grunt, I buried the dagger in between its neck and shoulder, pulled it clear, and knocked it to its back.

That was when I turned to the wreck that was once my camp. My first concern was the sword, so I seeked out the scabbard and returned it to my hip. Then, I started for the sword itself.

I was tackled to the rocky floor with my blade arm pinned, and on instinct I brought my shield between me and the troll. It began to pound on my shield with one fist while pinning my other arm with its free hand. I was able to see that the wound I inflicted on its neck had scabbed over already. I would soon find that the gashes upon its legs did too.

It pounded on my shield repeatedly, but the strikes did not pierce it. Instead, the shield had begun to bend and give under the blows. The only reason I was not completely crushed was because my legs were free- I had managed to get them under my shield to help protect my torso.

Seeing that the blows were not working, the fool released the grip it had on my blade arm. The dagger found the massive beast's stomach four times in rapid succession.

This time, the troll lurched backward, stumbled and turned away from me, and fell to the dirt before me. I was panting bruised and dirtied, but otherwise uninjured.

This time, I retrieved my sword and went to grab my helmet too- I had taken it off when I bedded down. Before I could reach it, I could hear the troll getting to its feet again. My dagger was sheathed and I drew my blade once more before turning to it again.

"Stay dead, stupid monster," I said. The troll charged me once again, but this time I decided to do the same. My shield was up, and it raised both fists to try and pound me into the ground. I had closed the distance between us too quickly, though, and shoved the shield into its torso as it sent its massive hands down.

The attack it was delivering me missed, and I found myself forcibly nestled against its disgusting fur. This troll smelled like death warmed over.

With the chance I was afforded by my move, I stabbed it in the chest, and it let me loose. The troll and I both looked at the wound, the sword still embedded in it.

The next thing I remember was being in the snow again. This was getting old. When I found my feet again, I saw the troll pulling the blade out of its chest as if it were nothing. If I only knew fire spells. I heard trolls were very sensitive to fire back in Cheydinhal.

It tossed my blade aside and stared me down. This wasn't good. I'd so far not been too badly injured, but it was only a matter of time at this rate. All of my attacks were for naught it seemed, and I backed up a few steps. The troll advanced towards me menacingly, and I looked to my side.

In my peripheral vision I saw the cliff face a few meters away. I had an idea.

The distraction was all it took for the troll to reach me again, and this time it gripped me by the throat with one hand. Instantly my air was cut off and I found myself gagging and reaching for it in an attempt to break free.

Its grip was like a vice. I think my story should have ended then, but this troll was stupid enough to toy with me instead of finishing me right then and there. It easily could have crushed my windpipe or bit me or otherwise broke me, but it didn't. Instead it held my throat tight with one hand, and it began to walk back towards the cave with me. I wondered what it hoped to do with me, but I wasn't about to find out.

I pulled my dagger once again and stabbed at one of its three eyes, earning a shriek from it and my freedom. This time I spared no time and ran towards the cliff face again before turning to face it.

Like I suspected, it recovered in what must have been record time, and it charged at me in an attempt at finishing me off.

I dove to the side, and the troll plummeted off the cliff. It disappeared a few hundred feet down in another white out that was occurring.

That was the moment I decided I hated trolls more than I hated damned wolves.

* * *

It took me another day to finish scaling the mountain. I was tired, cold, and hungry. I could only hope that whatever these hermits wanted me for was worth it.

The building was positively massive, and seemed to be made of the same stone as the mountain itself. The doors were easily capable of opening to engulf the black beast of Helgen.

Needless to say, I suddenly understood why these old men were secluded. How was _I_ going to open those doors?

I would have turned around and walked off if I was anyone other than me. Instead, I decided I had to at least try to open the doors.

You can imagine my surprise when the doors opened like they were made of cotton. I winced when the door I pushed open hit a wall inside with a slam.

"A visitor to our hallowed halls."

The voice sounded tired and old, but the building itself was large enough to allow it to echo throughout. As a result, it sounded far stronger than it really was.

When I entered High Hrothgar, I was instantly being warmed in spite of the enormity of the building. I could smell something having been freshly baked and the air itself was heavier here than outside. I could breathe far easier now. It was as if I had just gotten off the mountain.

Part of me groaned. I'd just made it to High Hrothgar. I still would have to climb back down. Though I did not know it at the time, I would be making quite a few trips to this place in the future. It would serve my heart well, but it was very unpleasant.

The door slammed shut behind me, and I put a hand on my blade by instinct.

" _Kos ahst drem,_ Dovahkiin."

I heard additional footsteps, but the dimly lit room showed little more than fleeting silhouettes. I counted four humanoid figures, and brought my shield up as they encircled me.

The torches on the walls came to life, and I caught my first glimpse of the hermits.

Out in the distance, a dragon bellowed.

End of Chapter

* * *

 **3,464 words.**

 **Happy independence day. And my birthday on the 5th. Joy.**

 **Next chapter covers the rest of High Hrothgar, and an attack on the road back to Whiterun.**


	19. Hermits Shy of the Peak

**Chapter 19**

 **Hermits Shy of the Peak**

* * *

 **"The military don't start wars. Politicians start wars."**

 **-William Westmoreland**

* * *

The door slammed shut behind me, and again my breath was taken away by the mountain. Even so, I spared myself no time to adjust, and instead began to walk the path back down the mountain.

I like to think that I have properly demonstrated to you, the reader, parts of the training I have enjoyed in my time here and in Sparta. In Sparta, we were fed sparse rations, though not through lack of resources. We were fed very little from the start of the agoge to encourage us to sneak and steal. Even our down time was spent in training.

A boy stood beside me at attention and betrayed not a glimpse of pain or anguish. I will never forget that day, for he was hiding a baby fox within his tunic that he wished to kill and eat. Had he been caught, he would have been beaten, and not for thievery. Whenever a child in Sparta was caught stealing, they were punished for just that- being caught. You may recall. I've only mentioned it now for the umpteenth time. The boy ultimately collapsed backwards and the fox ran off. The whole time we were at attention, it had been disemboweling the boy. Two helots were summoned to remove the corpse.

Here, however, things were not as strict. Mother did provide sufficient discipline in my training days, but I was fed well and taught by her to _never_ steal. I practiced my sneaking capabilities on my own since I got here. Instead, I was taught the fighting strategies of a Shadowscale, which included blades, blunt weapons, unarmed combat and, of course, archery. One of the most difficult things I had to learn, however, was marine battling. A necessity for such training was holding your breath for several minutes at a time.

Mother, being an Argonian, had the ability to breathe in the water. Needless to say, marine battles were child's play for her.

I ended up passing out the first few times I trained in the water. My oxygen deprived mind suffered many a strange hallucination, but nothing has ever been as creepy as my first encounter with the Greybeards. Yes, yes. Long walk for a short drink of water.

They all wore black robes with hoods that hung so far down that their eyes were not visible. I could scarcely see many facial features on any other than their matching beards.

Yes, their beards were all identical, and so ratty and worn that I wondered if they'd ever washed a day in their lives.

They had poor posture; hunched backs bent double like knock-kneed beggars under sacks. They carried an air of authority, or an air of authority carried them in spite of it all.

The first glimpse of eye came from the nearest to me, who seemed to be measuring me. He slowly made his way around me. I remained rooted to the ground and overconfident. These men were older than the hills and I felt that I could easily defend myself against them should things go south, so I didn't bother tracking this one.

He hummed to himself before turning to the others.

"Uraal ko giwahdil, nivok ko zii."

Then, before I could say anything, he put a hand on one of my arm muscles. He came closer to me and how I desired to break him then.

"Very good. Let us taste of your voice."

I growled to myself and pulled my arm free of him. Taste of my voice? With pleasure.

My use of the word _fus_ felt routine to me on my second utterance. It was as if I'd learned all I could then learn from the word when I first unconsciously used it. I later learned it was indeed the case, and that I wouldn't be able to unlock more of its power or meaning without awakening more of what lurked within me.

The word was no less potent, however. The man stumbled backwards with a grunt, as if I'd punched him in the stomach. At the Shout, the others got to their knees and bowed their heads. One of them met his forehead with the floor, with his arms tucked to his sides. He wouldn't move for the remainder of the time I was there other than for breath.

Have I mentioned yet that these men creeped me out?

My Shout echoed through the building for a few seconds, after which I was met with silence. For what felt like eternity, there was no movement from any of us.

"Arngeir."

My eyes shot to the one I had struck.

He gave his neck a mighty crack, which too echoed through the building.

"My name is Arngeir."

I said nothing, only staring at him.

"Why are you here, Dovahkiin?"

I continued to stare incredulously at him.

"You called," I said. "You tell me."

Arngeir said nothing for a moment. He reached into his robes and pulled a flask from them, after which he took a long drink.

I suddenly began to wonder if these men were always this out there or if it was just inebriation that made them so strange.

"You'll have to forgive us. It is not exactly every day a Dragonborn awakens."

He held the flask out to me, but I declined. I still had a trip down the mountain I was sore about. I didn't want to risk going the way of the troll if I drank myself into a stupor.

Arngeir returned the flask to his robes.

"As Dragonborn, you possess a unique gift. Simple men must train for years upon years to learn the Thu'um. You, however, learn it almost effortlessly."

The man hunched forward and looked to the ground, where he whispered one Word. " _Ro."_

I found my eyes glued to the ground. I could feel it echo in my head. Balance. It means balance.

I felt a jolt in my chest, not unlike the feeling of the attack on me by the draugr. The power of the Word washed through my body, and I felt a strength I only yearned for more of.

When the feeling settled, I was taken to a courtyard outside of the large temple. There were no clouds above us. Though I could feel the sun on my person, the air was biting cold. Snow powdered the stone beneath my feet, and the peak of the mountain still towered over me.

"Now, let us taste of your blade."

I looked to my side at the old man. "You mutter. Say that again?"

The man eyed the blade upon my hip.

"Take your weapon in hand and strike at me, Dovahkiin. We must see if you truly do possess the spirit of a fighter within you."

I looked down at the sword, but did not retrieve it. Again, I looked at the man. His body looked so brittle. I did not wish to kill him. Other than being more than a little odd, he had done me no wrong personally and I disliked killing innocent people.

"Surely you jest," I said. He shook his head.

"You need not hold back. I will not be harmed."

I put a hand on my blade but otherwise hesitated. He beckoned me. "Come now. You have shown us the might of your Words, now show us the might of your blade."

I drew the blade from its sheath in a firm grip, and I adopted the phalanx position I have used so often in my battles. Though it is less effective with only one body, the position does help retain the center of balance. Enemies without the Voice have an especially hard time of knocking me off my feet in such a position.

The old man did not flinch. Instead he eyed me silently, and he raised one hand, two fingers outstretched. Whenever I moved the blade, he followed with his fingers.

" _Dwiin volk foz!"_ he Shouted. I tensed when he began, but my hearing was no worse for wear. I felt no different, and for a moment I wondered if he was simply cursing at me or something.

I got my answer when I saw his two fingers glowing a light blue. Given my lack of attack so far, the old man threw a punch at me with his other hand, which I blocked with my shield without a second thought. I could feel a dull pain reverberate through my arm, however. The man knew how to throw a punch.

I retaliated with a simple verticle slice, but he managed to catch the tip of my blade using just those two outstretched fingers. Instantly all downward motion ceased and the blade began to shake in my grasp.

Another punch saw my grip on the blade fail completely, and the old man himself now held my weapon. I eyed him without emotion.

"Regrettable," he said. "If you can not hold your own against a Greybeard, you have no hope against the World Eater."

"Claws do not make lions," I responded. He gave a curt nod.

"That may be, but they do help keep them alive."

With a fluid toss, the hilt of the blade was in my hand again.

"You would do well to accustom yourself to such upsets. You have a lot of learning yet to do if you wish to defeat a beast like Alduin. He may not have fingers, but he has many other ways to tear you limb from limb, Dovahkiin."

I said nothing more. Arngeir reached into a robe and handed me a map of some sort.

"I request that you do us this favor. Head to the tomb of Ustengrav. Fetch the instrument that speaks poetic of the Way of the Voice: Find the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller within the tomb, and return it to us. By doing this, you will not only better yourself by training, but you will become all the more in tune with the Voice."

The old man took a step closer. "We will teach you the final word of the shout you let us taste of. Will you do this for us?"

Again, I could not very well decline the request of a Greybeard. Not only would the Nord people of Skyrim feel disrespected, but Mother was a huge fan of theirs and would never forgive me if I had turned them down on a request like that. I gave my nod and heaved a sigh.

"Mind your beast," I said. "The one who keeps my nights restless and fitful. He may not attack but he does damage by invading my dream scape."

Arngeir was silent for a moment, as if in thought. "Our beast? We Greybeards have no beasts. The nearest to one you will find is Paarthurnax, our leader, and that itself is only in body but not in mind. Perhaps you can describe it?"

I grumbled something to myself, but relented and gave him a loose description of my dream beast- the gentle eyes, the pale white scales with the red markings, the feelings of total peace and what I saw to be affection in his eyes. Even if he meant me no harm, I did not wish my nights to be so flustered.

When I looked at Argneir again, he seemed to have a knowing look on his face. "You would do well to research the Aedra, Dovahkiin. You describe one of the Divines themselves. To be seen by one within your dream scape is the highest honor."

"I fail to see it as such."

Arngeir did not humor me or continue to discuss the matter with me.

"Come. Let us discuss one more Shout. Perhaps it will lend aid to your descent from this mountain."

I sighed.

End of Chapter

* * *

 **1,958 words.**

 **Okay, I don't know what you did to my outline. Yeah, you. Human being. With the eyes and the nose. But my chapter numbers are all screwed up. This is proof I cannot follow my own simple instructions.**

 **This chapter is in memory of Craig. I'm sick of this year.**

 **Next chapter covers the attack on the road for real. I got my wires crossed.**


	20. The Third Horseman Cometh

**Chapter 19**

 **The Third Horseman Cometh**

* * *

 **"If your attack is going too well, you're walking into an ambush."**

 **-Infantry Journal**

* * *

I was off the mountain by the next night. A white out while I was still a ways up forced me to take shelter for several hours. When I at last made Ivarstead again, I heard the chatter of many people who were finishing their errands of that day, but a few fell silent when I passed.

That was when I began to hear the gossip. When they saw me last, I was scaling the mountain to meet with the hermits known as the Grey Beards. Rumors were bound to start.

"The whispers are true. The Dragonborn."

"Him? Dragonborn? But he's so young."

"I heard the Greybeards called on him for a bodily favor. They must be lonely."

"Some say he was behind that poor Frost Troll's fall."

"Is that so? He should be ashamed. The poor thing is lucky to be alive."

"I wonder if he would do me a favor and harvest the crops tomorrow?"

I growled lowly to myself, and began to walk quickly until I was clear of the town. There was no carriage this time for me.

It was the first time I would ever brave the Bataan Death March alone. Fools die in such ways.

* * *

"Oh, I can smell your blood!"

There were three of them. They were arrogant fools only slightly older than I was at the time, and they appeared sickly. So lost were they in their arrogance that instead of ganging up on me at once and cutting me down in short order, two stood back and let the third fight me one on one.

They believed to have caught me covering my feet, and as well considered me an easy kill. I like to think that such a statement is inaccurate, bested though I have been before.

The one who signed the death contract first struck uselessly at my shield quickly and repeatedly. I dared not grip my blade yet, for fear of his slicing at my arm then.

His strikes were impressive in speed, but my shield was enough to protect me. When I felt a chance open, I lurched the shield forward with great force, knocking my attacker off balance for but a moment.

It was all I needed. I readied myself to perform an attack I had not managed to use on a living being yet. It is a remnant from Sparta, but a piece of Pankration- the double leg takedown.

To the Layman, such an attack involves grabbing your opponent by the waist and lifting as high as you can while retaining balance. Then, it's a matter of slamming the victim into the ground. This attack tends to result in the victim slamming his or her head onto the ground. On a cobblestone road like this one, an injury like that would lead to a severe brain injury.

When I lowered my shield in preparation, my quarry had righted himself enough to make a sloppy attempt at stabbing me again. It was avoided easily by ducking to one side. That momentum sealed his fate, for I shot forward quickly, picked him up by the waist such that his blade could strike naught but my shield, and I slammed him to the rocky road with great force.

I recall the sound of his skull impacting the stone. For good measure I set a knee on his chest and gave him two punches in the throat. I remember feeling a crunch upon the second strike and I felt bile rise up my throat, but I bit it back. I was not done yet. My gaze shot to the remaining two.

Amazingly, neither of them had bothered to make an attack. They both only watched, as if they did not appreciate his company anyway and wanted him out of their group.

One more took a few steps towards me. A woman. She wore thick steel armor and carried herself like a true warrior. I drew my blade. This one was not going to go down as easily. I just knew it.

"Let us end this charade," she uttered.

I only took the stance of the phalanx, and I braced myself. I spied no blade on her person. Instead, she carried a warhammer. I growled lowly. Warhammers are very effective against those who pride themselves with their shields. They can deliver damage through the shield. It's all about the force behind the strike. If the enemy is good enough with a warhammer, it's possible for your shield arm to break if it's hit. The good news, however, is the lack of protection. A warhammer tends to leave its wielder without a free hand.

I eyed the weapon enviously. I'd tried many times through the years to train with two handed weaponry and I failed every time. My fighting style was too accustomed to the use of a shield, and I'm also not Ralof. I can't just swing one such weapon with ease.

This woman could.

The first swing impacted the dirt just before me. I did not retire my shield during this fight. Though its use was limited in defense against such a weapon, I still had my training.

I lunged my shield into her person, managing to make her flinch. A Hoplite does not only use his shield for defense, but for offense as well.

It was not particularly effective. Her armor absorbed most of the hit, but it bought me enough time to swing my blade at her. I was not expecting to pierce her armor on the first try, and I was not surprised when I didn't.

However, this blade did leave an impressive dent in her armor as well as a hairline crack. She herself remained uninjured, but she growled and eyed Irileth's blade. The blades of the elves were notoriously effective at piercing armor.

"A fine weapon," she muttered. Swiftly, she knocked my blade arm aside with the handle of her warhammer, and swung in such a way that my head was nearly taken. "I'll be sure to melt it down once you're dealt with."

I lunged forward with a stab, though I missed my target. "Come and take it," I uttered.

She grinned and managed to strike me with the warhammer, but I was very lucky. I was close enough to her to limit her manuverability and as such I suffered little other than a few bruised ribs. She managed to knock me to the floor, and she raised the weapon above her head. I rolled onto my back and eyed her as she prepared to deliver the fatal blow.

The words echoed within my mind.

 _"Fus ro!"_

The clap of a shockwave took her by surprise, and caused her to stumble back. She shook her head a bit to clear it of the Words, which bought me enough time to find my feet again.

She scowled. _"You'll pay for that!"_

"Gods, Irma. You don't have to shout!" retorted the other from the side.

She turned to him momentarily. _"What?!"_

The fool offered me an opportunity to stab her, but her armor was thicker in the back it seemed. My blade did not so much as leave a scratch on this attack, though I did make her stumble forward. She turned swiftly, swinging the warhammer wildly. I had to duck quickly and could feel it pass overhead.

Again she was left open to my fury, and again I struck trained at her. My blows landed with ferocity, and her armor began to show signs of fatigue. There were dents and scratches over much of the front around her belly and the nook of her left shoulder and neck, but none of my attacks had drawn blood yet. I felt sweat stinging my eyes and my breath was coming out in a pant.

My desire, however, to avoid death here was very high. Death by warhammer is supposed to be extremely unpleasant. I was doing my all to avoid her blows, and they were coming faster and closer the longer the fight drew on. Sooner or later my luck was going to run out. I did not like the idea of this idiot standing over my still form.

My eyes fixed to the signs of weakness in the armor near her shoulder and neck. I had an idea.

With her next attack, I backed up with a few leaps, just like mother. The woman eyed me, and spat.

"Come face your death with dignity, milk drinker."

I began what would be my final charge if I failed, and what would be her demise if I succeeded. She grinned, and drew her warhammer up as she prepared to beat me down.

At the last second, I leapt to the side. In passing, I buried my blade in the stressed point on her armor.

I could feel the metal give way, and the blade slid in between her neck and shoulder. The muscles quivered and I pulled the sword loose once more. I had buried it to the hilt. I lost my footing and hit the ground after a moment. In the dull moonlight I could see blood reflecting off my weapon.

Not much of the stuff seemed to be falling from the woman, however. She lowered the warhammer and I could hear a low groaning coming from her. She took a step forward, then another, and then her feet came out from beneath her. She hit her knees, and then the ground before breathing out a final sigh.

There was no rest. I was instantly beset upon by the final of the trio, and he was using the bane of my existence- magic.

In the moonlight, I swear his eyes shone red. He afforded me no words, and instead cast his foul spell on me. His hands glowed red, and I felt as though my very soul was being rend from my body. I liken the feeling to a thousand red hot needles piercing your skin from every which way. With each passing second, I felt my legs become like butter.

What's more, the man seemed to be rejuvenating himself, as if delighting in the torment he was sowing upon me. I refused to take a knee before him, but I knew I wouldn't be running after him any time soon. Not like this.

I recalled one thing I learned from the Greybeards, a thu'um they called the "Whirlwind Sprint." As with any other Words I had knowlege of, I could feel them rumbling within me, a dull echo begging to reverberate in the world. The full shout would not be needed. I could get my point across with but one Word.

The bad news was, his attack had brought a tremble to my body, and though he had ceased the cursed spell then, he replaced it with frost, as cold as the kiss of a dagger. This magic could be somewhat limited by my shield, but I needed more.

Any distance I closed between us began to open again. The man knew if I got within striking distance, he would be cut down. I knew that charging him would be extraordinarily difficult, and I also knew that he would likely switch to his first attack once more if I made such a move of now. I looked around the road to the plains, hoping to spot something occuring in the environment that I may use to my advantage.

A stone that was a little less than knee high caught my attention, and I looked back at the mage from behind my shield. He was focused too much on me. If I could manipulate him into stumbling on the rock...

First, however, I had to trick him, and I needed to do it sooner rather than later. My shield arm was rapidly going numb and the deep freeze coming from this mage was making it much more difficult for me to move.

I began to trudge in one direction, and I felt relief when the mage began to walk in the opposite. I was amazed his magic reserves had not been exhausted yet. Just a few meters. If I could get him to stumble on the rock, that would be enough to break his concentration and allow me to close some distance.

It was rapidly becoming like walking up the mountain again carrying the entirety of Skyrim on my back. My shield arm was positively burning with frost. After this battle I would have to stoke a fire.

All at once his spellwork failed as he stumbled over the stone. Now was my chance...

Yet I could not run in my weakened state. This was of no concern, however. A Word was echoing within my mind. It would do my walking for me.

 _"Wuld!"_

In a flash and a thud, I knocked the bastard to his back. I landed atop him and swiftly pulled my little sliver of night; the dagger that nearly took me some time ago.

With both hands, he did his best to resist my coup de grâce. I pushed downwards steadily and he pushed up. I could feel him dig his nails into the skin on my hands in his attempts at breaking free.

All of it was too late. There were no arrows for him to plunge to my eye sockets, no magic left within his body to distract me, and no way for him to escape.

I never looked away from his eyes. I saw the terror give way to excruciating pain, and the pain then give way to nothingness. I watched the soul leave him, and I felt him heave his last breath in my face.

I should have looked away. I could feel a sharp pain in my chest as well, as though I too was being stabbed once more. The pain prevented me from catching my breath, and after the taxing battle with these three, I desperately needed to breathe.

I clutched my chest, for fear of having been accosted by a fourth assailant, but I found no trace of injury. I lay next to my quarry, the Last Kiss still embedded within his chest and the phantom knife in mine.

For several minutes it was all I could do but look up at the sky. Breathing caused the pain to renew itself and I just felt cold. All at once, however, it left me.

It would not be the last time I suffered such a strange effect.

* * *

I found Whiterun again a day and a half later. I first stopped for rest well off the path, and the symptoms began to show.

My joints were achy and my head pounded. I had a great thirst that could not seem to be quenched, no matter how much I drank. Whatever the wolf had inflicted upon me all those years ago, this may as well have been opposite.

I intended on doing a bit of resupplying in Whiterun. I had picked a few gold off the bodies of those who attacked me on my death march. Though I was by no means wealthy now, I did find enough money to get myself some food at least. Perhaps when I was done I would have a bit of money left over to look into a warm bed for the night? I did not know if I was going to be taking my walk to the temple that housed the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. It was an ancient building not unlike the one I nearly died in. I would rather be over prepared than under prepared in this sense. I did not want a repeat of the battle I had in attempting to find the tablet for that rough maiden lookalike, Farengar.

I found myself in the small shop in Whiterun known as "Belethor's Goods and Services." It was somewhat busy, however. There were a few people browsing his wares, which he kept in a state of chaos all over the store. One very large woman was talking to Belethor himself about food, specifically some chicken, steak, soup, three servings of dessert, four bottles of wine, and a salad. Gods woman, have you no shame?

"I think she ate her husband," said a fair voice from beside me. "Either that or he's the belt she's wearing."

I scoffed. "Indeed."

What? She was far from a fair maiden. I daresay she deserved some such talk. She was far from a nice woman, too, if the cursing was anything to go by.

"Are you Mia Tuk?" asked the woman beside me. I felt the hair on my arms stand up, and I put a hand on my dagger.

"Maybe."

I turned to face the woman, and I nearly took a step back. She was taller than I, and well built, yet she somehow managed to retain her womanly assets and intrinsic beauty. She had black hair and piercing blue eyes with a fair complexion, and she was dressed in a warrior's garb: Tough steel armor and a large battleaxe was upon her back. She smiled warmly at me.

"Forgive me. I failed to introduce myself. My name is Lydia. Jarl Balgruuf has assigned me to be the personal housecarl of Thane Mia Tuk."

I blinked. For a moment I had completely forgotten that I was made a Thane.

"You ran out of town too fast for me to properly introduce myself to you before. Fancy seeing you here."

I was silent, and she held out a hand to me. I uneasily shook it. Gods, her grip was tough. I swore she delivered three hairline fractures in that handshake alone.

"As your housecarl, I am sworn to your service. I will protect you, and all that you own, with my life. I would like to prove my worth to you, my Thane. Won't you allow me to accompany you for just a bit?"

I was nodding almost immediately. An extra pair of hands would mean wonders for me. Less of a chance I would be surprised, and this woman looked like she could either defeat our foes by brute strength or beauty alone.

"Shall we?" I asked. She shook her head with a giggle, and pointed to the shopkeep, who was eyeing us with impatience.

"I think we should supply first."

I grumbled.

End of Chapter

* * *

 **3,097 words.**

 **Enter Lydia. She's sworn to carry your burdens if you know what I mean. She also makes a good pack mule too.**

 **Next chapter covers additional plot points. You won't want to miss this one. In the next chapter I will string words together to resemble *gasp* SENTENCES. And join me again in the chapter after that, when after 45 months of preparation, I add proper punctuation marks.**


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